


Summer of Like

by twinkjack



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Comfort/Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt, Warped Tour 2005, as canon as i could make it, petekey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkjack/pseuds/twinkjack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"i need a summer fling."</p><p>"and you thought that i was the best choice?"</p><p>"well, obviously."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. preface

Pete Wentz is bisexual. Is that a secret? Sort of. Should it be? No. he's just too lazy to come out. Besides, he hasn't really done anything with guys except when he's drunk.

But then, his band scores a spot on Warped Tour, and he finds himself right next to who may be the cutest boy in the universe- Mikey Way. Yep, the one from My Chemical Romance. Also known as: the guy who Pete will end up writing songs about for the next ten years. Count 'em, people: ten.

Problem is, does Mikey like him back? Much like his knees, Mikey doesn't _seem_ straight- but that's what everyone's like on Warped Tour. Gay until proven straight. Look at Gerard and Frank.

But anyway- Pete, being Pete, doesn't know exactly how to approach Mikey on this. 'Hey, I like you, I'm really fuckin' gay and you're really fuckin' hot, wanna date?' yeah, that doesn't sound like a good idea. Well, he'll probably end up doing something like that anyway, because who said Pete has social skills? Despite being the front man of a band? No one, that's who.

Maybe it'll be more like 'hey, Mikey Way, want to go have a summer fling and then deny it for the next ten years while writing songs about it, and when my own band breaks up, hijack my best friend's band and continue writing songs about you?'

Who wouldn't say yes to that?


	2. your starry skies and laughing eyes

So. Warped Tour.

It's Fall Out Boy's second year of being on the line up, but Pete's as scared and excited as he was last year. There are some other familiar bands this year, ones that were there last time, and then new faces, of kids, really. They're young.

He turns to his bandmate and lead singer, a fresh-faced boy just turned twenty one. "Patrick," he says, and the boy glances up. It's clear to see he practically worships Pete, the older guy, king of Chicago's alternative scene. They've been in this band for four years now, but the admiration on Patrick's face is still as obvious as it was when they first met.

"Yeah?" Patrick asks, phone in hand. He's texting someone.

"We're on Warped again," Pete says, and Patrick hums in response. He knows about it. He's known for a while. They all have. But now that the actual, first date is just a couple days away, the reality of it is sinking in. They're spending this summer on the road, playing concerts for a screaming crowd who may or may not know them, nearly every day.

Pete's excited. Patrick's terrified.

"I can't wait," Patrick sighs finally, putting his phone away. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Fair enough," says Patrick. "We got our set list finalized?" Pete nods. "That's good. I'm just- I'm actually terrified."

"I figured," laughs Pete, "it's only sixteen dates, though. I mean, that's more than last year, but still... not too bad, right?"

Right.

Pete's secretly terrified.

"Our album's doing well," Patrick continues, chewing at a hangnail. "Sugar's doing _great_. Surprisingly."

"Surprisingly? It's a fuckin' awesome song, of course it's doing great," Pete scoffs. "Come on, let's go to the bus."

They've got a new bus this year, and Andy and Joe have taken up residence already, busily engaged in a game of cards when Pete and Patrick enter. Joe looks frustrated. Andy's grinning.

"Hey," Pete says, sitting down beside Andy and peeking at his cards. "Nice."

They're playing poker, which is a game that any band member in the world knows- it's an acquired skill picked up after spending a month living in a tour bus with no internet access and three other annoying men. Pete, having been in quite a number of bands during his life, is probably the most skilled out of the four- Patrick being the least. Figures.

he watches Andy and Joe play for a bit more as Patrick goes over things, realizing eventually that no one's listening to him, and walking to his bunk in exasperation. The stress of being on warped is getting to them.

It grows later in the day, and Pete decides to bring out a couple beers for them to down before they retire for the night. Andy's still keeping up his ridiculous straight-edge phase (yes, Pete is a hypocrite, having been straight-edge once himself, but there's a reason he _was_ , and not _is_.) and politely refuses, while Joe grabs one eagerly to drink away the pain of getting beaten in poker.

He intends to drink only a bit, but ends up with about three empty bottles and a slight headache. "That's it," Pete sighs, slumping over. "I'm going to bed."

They're not leaving for about another hour, as Andy prefers to drive during the night, but they bid him farewell anyway and he stumbles off.

His bunk is the top-right one, across from Patrick, and he turns to watch the younger boy's chest rise and fall for a bit. Patrick's such a sweet guy.

Pete just hopes that nothing goes wrong these next couple months.

-

He wakes up in the middle of the night, when it's silent. That's the part that Pete likes most. He's always had trouble sleeping on tours, and so he's grown accustomed to walking around on the bus, staring outside as they drive by cities full of people he's never known, he's never met. Pete thinks about that a lot. These people, they lead completely different lives. They associate with completely different people- hell, they might even speak a different language.

Pete goes to sit down, his head whirling. Thinking about that always gives him a head rush.

Putting his forehead against the window, he stares up at the night sky. There are so many stars. They must be in the countryside then, far away from any artificial lights. God- he's forgotten how he's missed this.

Andy's still awake, sitting in the driver's seat with a thermos full of coffee resting beside him. He whispers a, "Hey," to Pete when he notices the older boy curled up on the couch. "Can't sleep?"

"Nah," Pete whispers back, turning around so that he's lying with his head towards Andy. "Wanna switch?"

"I'm good," replies Andy. He always prefers to drive. It makes him 'feel important' and 'part of the band'. Of course he'd feel that way, though- he's the newest band member, having been there only two years to everyone else's four.

Pete makes an approving sound and shifts- again- to lie on his back, head resting on the couch cushions. He stares up at the glow in the dark stars stuck all over the ceiling. Maybe one day they'll have a window instead of a roof, and he'll be able to stare at the real night sky.

One day.

If they ever get, like, really big. Which, at this rate... well, Pete doesn't like to hope, but- it seems likely. Look at how popular Sugar is. Just all of Cork Tree in general. He likes looking at how it's climbing the charts- he feels like it's his kid, sort of. Just filled up to the top with pride.

A loud groan emits from his mouth as he notices the bunk lights slowly flicking on.

"Fuck," Andy curses, and the bus swerves slightly. "We're good, ignore that," he adds immediately afterward. "Is someone awake?"

Patrick stumbles in, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, hair sticking up all over the place. Pete is struck suddenly by how _young_ the kid is. His 21st birthday was, what, last month? And here's Pete, 25-year-old scene queen. Well, then.

"Can't sleep?" he asks Patrick, echoing Andy's earlier words. Patrick looks at him in confusion, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.

"No," he admits, sitting down beside Pete and tucking his legs up. "It's too cold."

Pete stares at him. "It's summer, you fool," he says, and then to Andy: "Pull over at a gas station, would ya? Need to stretch my legs. Thanks, dude." He swings his attention back to Patrick and ruffles his hair, grinning. "You're literally a tiny kid. Want me to sing you a lullaby, too?"

"Fuck off," Patrick grumbles, resting his chin on his knees. Pete smirks at him.

The bus clatters to a stop and Andy peeks around the seat. "Gas station. Do you have money?"

"Yeah, d'you want something?" Pete hops to his feet, searching for his wallet.

Andy half-falls out of the seat in an attempt to crack his back, groaning. "A Monster or something? I'm, like, falling asleep. And a sandwich."

"Got it."

He finds a twenty dollar bill stuffed into the pocket of his jacket and takes it, shuffling off the bus. Patrick yells at him, something that sounds like _buy me a goddamn--_ and the bus door shuts.

He heads into the gas station. The person running the register barely glances up from a magazine, not even caring that a band member just stumbled in at three in the morning. Pete soon finds out why.

He's reaching for a Monster when someone behind him goes, "Pete?" He braces himself for a screaming fan, but as he turns around, energy drink clasped in his hand, he sees the bassist of another band who's playing on Warped this year. "Oh my god, it _is_. I haven't seen you in forever."

Pete grins. "Mikey fucking Way. You've changed since last year."

"Have I?" Mikey's lips quirk up. He pulls at a strand of hair and rests the bag of chips he's holding against his leg. "So have you."

"Obviously." Pete runs his hand through the black fringe flopping over his eye. "Only in a good way, though. Both of us, I think." The Monster is freezing his hand, and he sets it on a shelf, leaning towards Mikey. "Why aren't you guys sleeping?"

"Dude, my band's a group of fucking vampires." Mikey rolls his eyes. "Frank is drunk and singing one of his old band's songs as loud as he can. And Gerard's joining in." He sighs. "It's fuckin' torture."

"Come to my bus," Pete says immediately, and Mikey raises an eyebrow. "What? It's quiet, and we have an extra bunk, I think."

They don't, but Pete doesn't say that.

"Okay," says Mikey, "Lemme just go pay for these."

"Right, me too."

He grabs the drink, a sandwich, and a couple bags of chips. Mikey stares at him as he pays, an eyebrow cocked quizzically.

Their buses are parked beside each other, and it's almost comical how loud Mikey's is versus Pete's.

"Maybe we can just switch," Pete grins. "Yours seems fun."

"It's really not, but we can go on mine if you really want..." Mikey trails off.

This seems to be an excellent idea to Pete. He boards his bus, tosses the food, and loudly announces that he's 'going over to MCR's bus, see you _later_ fools,' before sauntering off. He's almost hit in the head by a flying chip, courtesy of Patrick.

Back next to Mikey, he grins at the boy and states, "Shall we, Mikeyway?"

Mikey rolls his eyes, but he's smiling too. "You fucking dork."

They enter the bus.

As stated, Frank is draped across the couch, feet against the wall, screeching an early MCR song as Gerard- also lying on the couch, although his feet are kicking Frank- sings along. They're horrendously drunk and Ray is sitting across from them, looking to be in pain.

"Mikey!" Frank cheers. "Is that the Wentz kid? Pete! Hello! I'm drunk, do you want somethin'?"

"Hey," grins Pete. "What d'ya got?"

"Aw, loads of shit," Frank tells him. "Gee and I, we've had quite a bit of fuckin'... Gee, what was it? Oh, yeah, we took shots. Come on, you versus Mikey. Who can do more?"

Mikey gives him a pained look, but minutes later, they've got ten shots lined up in front of both of them. Pete leans forward and brushes Mikey's hair away from his face. "Good luck, Mikeyway," he tells the boy, and Mikey sighs.

"Three, one, two- wait, no, that's not right. Four- no- three, _two_ , one, there we- GO!" A very drunk Frank counts them off and instantly Pete downs a shot, the liquid burning his throat. Mikey's struggling to keep up, and in the end it's Pete who's declared winner.

"Quiet down, you fuckers!" comes a yell, and Pete twists his head to see a frustrated Bob Bryar angrily driving the bus. "I'm gonna fucking crash."

"Don't do that," Gerard slurs. "We're gonna fuckin' die."

"We're all gonna die!" shrieks Frank. This idea amuses him greatly, and he howls with laughter for a good couple of minutes before fading into a long wheeze.

Pete's head spins and he tries to get up, only to collapse in Mikey's lap. "Hey," he slurs, and Mikey raises an eyebrow.

"Hi," he says back. Seriously, he's got like an immunity to alcohol or something, because he seems rather coherent right now.

Pete giggles and reaches up to brush his fingers along Mikey's jaw. "Ow," he says jokingly. "Your sharp jawline."

"That was a fucking awful joke."

"Aw," Pete pouts. "You love me!"

"Fuck you."

"Loooooovvvvveeee meeeee."

"Fuck _off_." Mikey finally cracks a grin and pushes Pete off of him, laughing as the boy's head hits the floor.

"Mikey!"

"What's? It's your fault!" Mikey protests, the alcohol clearly affecting him now. His eyes are slightly clouded and he's smiling more. Pete likes it- Mikey looks cute like this.

Wait, shit. No homo.

He looks cute- in like, a totally platonic way. Like, oh, you're good looking, that's it.

No homo, man.


	3. i think he likes my guitar more than he likes me

Pete checks his guitar. Strums a chord. His fingers fall into a natural rhythm, and he plays through a quick song. A practice one.

So, it's the first date of Warped Tour, and everyone is secretly terrified.

Pete keeps flashing back to what happened on the bus, though. Mikey looked really good that night. Again, no homo- but that night, something _changed_.

He'd always seen Mikey Way as a pretty cool dude. That night, he'd noticed something else. It was difficult to explain, but there'd been this one moment, when he glanced at Mikey, and the light seemed to fall on him just right, and he looked... like a fucking _god._

Pete's fingers slip and he cringes as the wrong note echos. "Fuck, sorry," he calls, scratching his head quickly.

Patrick nods and glances offstage. "How much longer till it starts?"

There's a yell of, "Ten minutes," and Pete feels cold sweat drip down the back of his _Stump Club_ shirt. Ten minutes until thousands of people are staring at him. Watching him play. Ready to boo if his fingers slip like they just did.

He straightens his back and exhales, slumping over almost immediately. With another quick run through of _Dance, Dance_ , one of the harder songs in his repertoire, Pete feels confident. He starts playing while jumping, running around on stage. Patrick gives him looks, but that doesn't deter him.

Nothing stops Pete when he's in the right mood.

The crowd is huge. Pete doesn't pay attention to it. They don't have very many songs to play. So he concentrates on playing them, occasionally doing leaps, sometimes running up to Patrick to scream the words into the microphone.

About halfway through the second song he feel another pair of eyes on him. Which shouldn't be so surprising, but it _is_ , because he knows it's not a fan. Quickly jerking his head to the right, Pete spots someone standing in the wings of the stage.

It's Mikey.

The shock almost makes Pete mess up, but he quickly diverts his attention back to his guitar and beams at the audience. But still, holy _shit_. That's Mikey- Mikey Way. He's a _far_ better bassist than Pete could ever be. And he's watching _him_ play?

As casual as could be, he whirls over to the right side of the stage. Mikey waves and Pete jerks his head at him in a messy nod. Wow. Wow, it's _Mikey_.

Careful to keep his attention on the song, and not Mikey, Pete does yet another jump and focuses on his guitar, at how his fingers pull the strings. He has a solo coming up. Now, don't fuck this up, buddy. You got this.

Miraculously, he pulls off the solo rather well, earning him a cheer from- fuck- Mikey. Yo, Wentz! Stay cool! You've still got another couple songs to run through- _idiot_. Okay, go on, keep yourself composed. Cool. You're cool. 

The song ends and he's suddenly struck by a thought that makes him snatch the microphone away from Patrick, screaming into the crowd: "We're Fall Out Boy! And we're here to _make some fuckin' noise_!"

Patrick pulls the microphone away from him and laughs. "Yeah," he adds, "And we want to hear you make some noise too. So don't be shy, okay? Let it all out."

And on that note, they kick into _Nobody Puts Baby In a Corner_.

Pete hangs at the back of the stage, occasionally grinning at Andy. His mind is going a thousand thoughts a second, and most of them are about Mikey. His heart thuds in his chest, fingers flying over the strings mindlessly from hours upon hours of repetition. Staying awake till three in the morning just to perfect one chord. Pete abandons his spot near Andy and does a split-kick towards the front of the stage- wincing over his decision to wear skinny jeans. That shit _hurts_.

The rest of the song is a blur. Pete saves his concentration for the next one, _I Slept With Someone..._  because he's got a major part in it, so- focus, Wentz. _Focus_. Eyes on the prize. Don't just look at her ass- eat it.

Cool.

The crowd is a lot more wild now. He's pretty sure they're gonna start flinging things onto the stage, which is possibly the worst thing that could happen, because it will most definitely mess up his concentration and that's not helpful at all. Also, the sun's in his eyes. And there's sweat rolling down his back- and of course, Mikey's still there.

Okay, here we go. _I Slept With Someone..._  begins and he's pretty good for most of it. Then comes the tricky part- screaming into Patrick's microphone while continuing to play. You got this, Wentz.

One, two, three.

"Someone old," Pete yells, "No one new- feeling borrowed, always blue." And he keeps going, until his throat is raw and Patrick's pushing him aside to belt out the next line. Satisfied with himself, Pete moves to the back again, and he stays there this time until the end of their set.

"Thank you!" he yells into the microphone. "We're Fall Out Boy, and we love you!"

 _Done_.

Finally.

He blows a kiss to the audience and runs off stage, over to Mikey. "That fucking _rocked_!" the boy exclaims, pulling his gray beanie off of his head. "Good job."

"Thanks," Pete grins, but his heart is hammering in his chest. "Can't wait to see you play."

"Yeah?" Mikey nods. "Nice. You going to the after party tonight?"

It's a dumb question. _Obviously_ Pete's going. "Fuck yeah," he says immediately, and Mikey gives a laugh.

"Thought so. So am I," he says. Then his eyes flicker over to the bass in Pete's hands, seconds away from being claimed by one of the stagehands, and he adds, "Like your bass, by the way."

Pete nods quickly. "Thanks. It's custom made-" But of course that's obvious, and a flicker of a smile crosses Mikey's lips. "Anyway," he coughs. "Yeah."

Smooth. _Real smooth_.

"I'll see you at the party?" Mikey offers, and Pete nods eagerly. "Cool. See ya."

Pete watches him go, and sighs a bit.

This party can't come soon enough.


	4. the (after) life of the party

Pete decides that night that he's actually pretty gay.

After watching Mikey play- and fuck, he's so much better than Pete could ever be- Pete tried to work up the courage to go and talk to the skinny kid again. Unfortunately, he wimped out and instead figured out a way to climb the roof of his tour bus, where he remained for two hours, hastily writing lyrics before the rest of the band found him and yelled at him. That was fun.

This should be even more fun, though- as most after parties are, especially on Warped Tour. What's not to love about a ton of 'punk' bands getting drunk together?

They've got an empty field- that's what they did last year, too. Roped it off and set a bunch of tents up, right next to a random patch of woods and only a short drunken stumble from the tour buses. They've managed to lug some huge speakers over, too, and a mash-up of the songs that've been played today blasts out over the field. Pete snags a cup of some sort of alcohol and joins the crowd, downing his drink.

He finds Patrick quickly- the boy is nervously sitting on a tree stump, cross legged and holding a beer bottle. He's chewing his lip and surveying the ridiculous amount of people nervously.

"You good there?"

Patrick looks up and smiles in relief. "Pete! Thank god- I was getting worried. Mikey was looking for you, but I kinda wanted you to stay and talk for a bit, if that's okay."

Pete shrugs in a _why-not_ sort of way, and Patrick makes room for him. They sit, a little awkwardly, legs brushing.

"Are you still scared?" Pete asks.

"Of the tour? A little bit- you know I always am." Patrick sips quietly and shrugs. "I don't know- it's getting better, I guess."

Pete kids thoughtfully. "Me too. Although I don't get scared that easily." He nudges Patrick playfully. "It's cool, though. You were good today, dude. Sometimes I forget how good of a singer you are."

The boy gives him a tentative smile. He- fuck, he looks so _young_. Even with the stupid sideburns, or attempt at them, he still looks like a teenager, a fresh faced nineteen year old, the way he looked when they first met- no, he was seventeen back then, or was it eighteen? The years are blurring together, and Pete's only had one drink. Still. He takes a long sip and surveys Patrick's face again, the way his blue eyes are squinting a little, staring down at the ground, the way his lips are a little pursed and his cheeks pink.

In the distance, an MCR song begins its angry blasting and Pete sighs. "I think I'm gonna go, find Mikey maybe," and Patrick agrees with a hasty nod. Alright, then- and Pete pats him on the head as he gets up, heading back into the mass of moshing people. Where do you think their fans get it from?

Mikey's not too hard to find. Pete finds him at the mass of coolers, snagging a beer, and immediately yells, "Yo, Mikey, grab me one-" To which the younger Way complies, smiling a little as he heads over to Pete. He tosses the can and Pete catches it easily, popping the tab. "Sup."

"Hi," Mikey says, brushing his hair back. He's wearing a faded black Anthrax shirt that hangs on his loose frame, and dark gray skinny jeans ripped at the knees. Pete takes a drink of the beer and stuffs one hand into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Enjoying it?" he asks, thankful for his high alcohol tolerance. This is his third beer and he's as coherent as always.

In response, Mikey bobs his head up and down, strands of hair falling in his face again. He gives up on trying to push them back and bites his lip in an oddly Patrick sort of way.

"Seems crazier than last time," Pete laments a bit awkwardly, then brightens up. "As far as I'm concerned, though, that's a _great_ thing. How many beers've you had?"

"This is my second," Mikey answers, articulate and careful as always. Pete grins at him.

"Mikeyway, it's time you find out what it's like to get fucked _up_."

-

In case you didn't know, there's an insane amount of drugs to be found and had at Warped Tour. Consider Pete to be an expert at this, because he is. Soon enough, he and Mikey are stoned off their faces, managing to stumble away from the crowd a bit and fall on their backs onto the cool grass.

"Whoa," Mikey comments, slurring his words a bit, "It's sort of- spinning, isn't it?"

Pete laughs hysterically and gropes for Mikey's hand in the grass. Both of them are so high/drunk that neither of them notice, or mind, this sudden contact. "You get used to it," he adds, and Mikey makes a long, drawn-out _oh_ sound. This, of course, send Pete into another fit of hysterics.

"I've never done this before," Mikey adds, turning onto his side. His face is shadowed by his hair, but he pushes it back lazily, still holding onto Pete's hand. Neither of them say anything for a moment, as Pete releases his hand, also moving onto his side. They lock hands again, facing each other, and maybe they're just really high, but they're like- sharing a _moment_.

Pete thinks that this would be the perfect time for Gerard or Frank to come wailing in on them with bursts of hysterical laughter and loads of 'congrats, Mikey's being thrown around. He doesn't really want that. He wants to stay here, with Mikey, and just- god, this is so sappy, but he just wants to look at Mikey's goddamned perfect face.

Mikey lets out a long sigh and flops on his back again, dropping Pete's hand. Pete feels a rush of disappointment but disguises it, turning back to face the sky.

"Goddamn it," Mikey mumbles, pushing his hair away from his face. "Pete, I..."

"Hmm?"

"I'm too fucking high for this." Mikey dissolves into laughter. "Fuck, I was gonna say something really serious, but, like- I'm _high_. Holy shit, Pete, my mom's gonna _kill_ me."

Pete grins. "You're 24, your mom can't do shit about it. She should be proud."

"I think she would be, yeah. My mom's real weird. She'd prolly hug me and say 'congrats, Mikes, you're a real man now.'"

"Prolly?"

"Prolly," Mikey confirms, laughing again. "Damn it."

"Hey, whoa, hold on." Pete cuts off whatever Mikey was going to say next, flinging a hand over the other boy's mouth and his other hand up at the sky. "Shooting star! Make a wish!"

Mikey gives a muffled giggle from under Pete's hand. "Done."

"Me too." Pete moves his hand away. "What did you wish for?"

"Nuh-uh. If you say your wish it won't come true."

Pouting, Pete sits up and pulls Mikey with him. "C'mon," he whines, pushing out his lower lip convincingly. Mikey smiles with one side of his mouth teasingly, shrugging.

"I don't _knowww_ ," he drags out, "I really want this to come true, y'know?"

"Umm." Pete digs his fingers into the grass, the dirt cool against his warm skin. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he notices Mikey watching him. "Can I help make it come true?" Goddammit, he thinks. This sounds so fucking _cheesy_.

Mikey has to stop and consider this for a moment. "Yeah," he says eventually, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, you most definitely can."

"Okay," Pete answers, scrunching his eyebrows together. "What do I need to-"

He's cut off and his eyes go wide as suddenly Mikey leans in and kisses him. It's a little awkward at first, and they bump noses, but then Pete's falling back on the grass and Mikey's on top of him with their lips sliding against each others, the smell of weed still lingering, and everything's rushing around him and he's-

"Is this okay?" Mikey whispers, pulling away for a moment. Pete decides not to answer, instead grabbing Mikey's face and kissing him again. Mikey has both his hands on either sides of Pete's head and his knees on either side of Pete's waist, and eventually he just straddles Pete, and Pete grabs his hair and tangles his fingers in it and they're making out, that's it, Pete Wentz is making out with a _guy_.

"Holy shit," Pete laughs, his face flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright. "Mikeyway, _damn_."

See, when you first notice Mikey, you think, damn, that's an awkward dude. Pretty nerdy if you ask me. You'd never guess he's in a band, let alone a successful one. Looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to Mikey.

But if you see him like this, how Pete's seeing him- laughing, his skin tinged red from blushing, hair all messed up and teeth slowly biting his lower lip- you have to take a minute to pause and go, holy _shit_. And that's what Pete does. He sits there and goes, holy shit, Mikey, you're fucking _hot_ , and Mikey laughs and covers his face and of course Pete has to kiss him again, because seriously, who _wouldn't_?

Alright, so Pete may be a little bit gay.

It's no big deal, though. _Really_.

-

"Where were you?" Patrick asks. He's dizzily holding onto a can of beer, his cheeks pink and flushed. Sweaty strands of hair fall over his forehead. He smiles at Pete in confusion.

"With Mikey," Pete answers, shrugging, smiling back. "You look pretty drunk there, buddy."

"Um," Patrick mumbles, looking down at his wet shirt. "I think I am."

Pete laughs and sets his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "You should go back to the tour bus. Where's Andy?"

There's a loud yell behind them and Joe and Andy crash into them, nearly knocking Pete off his feet. "Right here!" Joe yells drunkenly, grinning. Andy sighs, holding on to Joe to keep the boy standing. Pete realizes suddenly that there's still at least 4 months until Joe turns 21. _Fuck_.

"Um, Andy," he says quickly, "Why don't you get Joe and Patrick back to the tour bus?"

The quiet boy looks at him and smiles slightly. "Believe me, I'm trying. Last thing we need is get him busted for underage drinking. Goddamn."

With that, he takes the two drunk boys by the arm and marches them off in the direction of the tour buses. Pete watches them go, until there's a tap on his shoulder.

"Travie!" He exclaims, whirling around. The taller man grins at him. His eyes are rimmed red and Pete instantly recognizes how high he is. "Damn," he says, "I haven't seen you in a _while_."

"Yeah," Travie answers, hugging Pete clumsily. "Missed ya, man."

"Missed you too!" Pete is grinning. He runs both of his hands through his hair and settles back. "I missed your set today."

"It's cool. I saw yours, though, you were fuckin' amazing." Travie taps him on the head. "I gotta run, but see you later, yeah?"

Pete bobs his head and waves as Travie vanishes into the crowd. Cool dude, that Travie.

Briefly he wonders if it's time to go back yet. Things don't seem to be settling down at all, but knowing these guys, they'll party till the sun comes up. Pete heads over to snag another beer and presses it against his forehead, the cool metal freezing against his flushed, hot skin.

At this point, he doesn't see anyone he recognizes, so he sneaks off to drink his beer and watch the crowd. Next time, he'll definitely be more involved, but now, he keeps himself complacent by perching at the edge of the massive horde of people. Suddenly, he notices two figures sneaking away. Upon further inspection, they turn out to be a very drunk Frank and Gerard, unable to keep their hands off each other. Pete laughs aloud and mutters, " _Called_ it."

He'll have to tell Mikey later- the boy will have a good laugh over that.

Right. Mikey. Pete thinks back to the feel of the other it against him, their lips sliding against each other's, Pete's hands in Mikey's hair- 

Um. Pete quickly shakes the thoughts off and directs his mind to something else. No good getting blue balls on tour. Jerking off in a tour bus is a _big_ no no for them.

He feels sleep edge at his eyes, and releases an involuntary yawn. Time to go, he thinks, rocking to his feet and stumbling. The ground comes rushing up to him and Pete smacks his chin against the grass, crying out. Fuck. Stumbling drunk on the first day. Not good. His mind flies into a panic and he struggles to his feet, one hand rubbing his chin.

"You okay there?" comes Mikey's voice, and he looks genuinely concerned. "Pete, you're really drunk."

"I'm fine," Pete insists, waving it off and taking another step, nearly falling yet again. "Fuck."

He feels Mikey's arms supporting him, Mikey's calm voice in his ear, and they make their way to the tour buses, Pete whining with each step.

"God, Wentz," Mikey says eventually, letting go as they near Pete's bus, "You're a fucking piece of work."

Pete sways on his feet and pushes Mikey against the wall of the bus, sloppily kissing him. Mikey pushes him back and grins. "That's as a thank you," Pete mumbles, his face flushing again. "Night, Mikeyway."

"Night, Pete."


	5. everyone's favorite heely slut

He wakes up with a throbbing headache. The taste of beer dries and cakes the inside of his mouth, and Pete immediately staggers off to throw up. He stays there, kneeling, for a couple moments, then flushes his face with cold water and stumbles into the main part of the bus.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," says Patrick, "Or should I say afternoon?"

Pete flips him off and collapses onto one of the couches. "Joe," he mumbles, "Be a sweetheart and get me a water?"

In response, Joe flings the bottle at his head. "I'm not your sweetheart," he complains, earning a smirk from Pete. "Dude!"

"No homo, whatever," Pete waves it off and downs half the bottle in one gulp. Letting out a loud burp, he leans back and kicks his feet up on the table. "Alright. _Now_ I'm good. What's the plan?"

"We're not playing until tomorrow," Patrick answers evenly, munching on a granola bar. "So today we're just driving. Maybe working on some lyrics."

Pete crumples the water bottle and tosses it at Joe, who ducks and lets out a yell. "That's fine," he tells Patrick, "I think I have some good ones. Alright." He notices the weird look on Patrick's face. "What's with the faces, Lunchbox?"

Carefully, Patrick says, "We saw you with Mikey last night."

Pete grins. "Yeah? And?"

Joe pulls a face and interrupts. "Whatever you do, dude, just don't fuck on the tour bus. Patrick, stop being a prissy shit about it." He grins at Pete. "The kid was all worried last night. 'What will they do if they see Pete making out with a _dude_ , oh no-' So I punched him in the face and now he's come to his senses."

Scowling, Patrick points to a discolored mark on his cheek. "Luckily," he says, "Joe is a pussy who can't hit hard at all. So I won't have a bruise."

Joe bursts into laughter. "I was going easy on you."

Settling back, Pete watches the exchange with a grin. "You guys," he says, "Are one. Hundred. Percent. _Married_." He watches Patrick's mouth drop open and the boy begin to complain. "And it's fuckin' _adorable_."

"We are _not_!" Patrick cries hotly, his face turning bright red. He refuses to meet Pete's eyes, and deliberately avoids looking at Joe. "Pete, I am _straight_!"

"Aw, damn," Joe says, eyes twinkling, "I was hoping you weren't..."

Patrick utters an exasperated scream and literally jumps on Joe, hitting him mercilessly. "You _fucker_ ," he whines, "Fuck _off_ -"

Pete is laughing hysterically, egging both of them on. Things have taken a sort of unexpected course of action, but fuck, this is so much better than whatever else he was planning on doing.

In response to Patrick, Joe finally just grabs his face and plants a kiss right on his lips, immediately diving away as Patrick howls and swipes at his lips. "You _fucker_! _Joe fucking Trohman_!" He's laughing so hard he's gasping for breath, his face red, although he might just be blushing. " _You did not just_ -"

"Oh, but I _did_ ," Joe yells back, crawling up on the couch beside Pete. "And I'll do it again, too!"

Patrick screams again and flings his hands up. "I give up! I give _up_! I just had a fucking gay _experience_! And I! Give! _Up_!" He collapses onto the floor. "I knew joining this band was a mistake!" His words are punctuated by hysterical, helpless laughter. "Shit- that was gay. _Shit_! Joe, c'mere."

"You gonna punch me again?" Joe asks, tucking his knees up to his chest.

"Somethin' like that," Patrick answers, and Joe reluctantly rolls off the couch over to Patrick. "C' _mere_." He punches Joe in the face- not too strongly, though, you know Patrick's weak- and then kisses him, blushing furiously. "I think I might still be a little drunk... So don't- don't- ignore this, okay? Shit!"

Oh, you know, your typical gay Fall Out Boy adventures.

Pete is howling with laughter, Joe and Patrick are blushing furiously, and Andy is yelling at them to shut up and stop making out because he's _trying to concentrate on driving this goddamn bus_. 

"I think," says Pete, wheezing, "I think I need to go- calm down. Hey, anyone want coffee? Andy, can we stop at Starbucks?"

"Fuck you," answers Andy, but starts looking for one anyway.

Patrick's head pops up. In the last ten seconds, Joe's managed to completely, um, get on top of him, and seeing Patrick peer out from under Joe's arm sends Pete into another wave of hysterical giggles. "Did I hear Starbucks?"

"Yep," Pete says, "But you're not getting any, cause you hit Joe."

"He hit me too!" Patrick cries, his mouth falling open indignantly. Joe puts his finger in Patrick's mouth and screams with laughter as the other boy starts, yelping in surprise. "What the _fuck_ , Joe?"

"Okay, okay," Joe says, rolling off of Patrick and onto the floor with a thump. He grins up at Patrick and the boy scowls at him jokingly.

"Oh, and hey," Pete pipes up, "You guys should buy me Heelys."

"What?" Patrick looks utterly confused. 

" _Heelys_ , you know, the shoes with wheels?" Pete tries. "Come _on_ , don't tell me you've never heard of them."

Joe bursts into helpless laughter. "As long as you wear them on stage," he sputters out. Pete immediately gets the mental image of him careening across the stage, screaming, desperately trying to play his bass and stop at the same time. 

"I think that's a safety hazard," he says eventually, and Joe topples over again, right on Patrick, who gives a little yelp but doesn't protest. "But knowing me, I _would_ do that."

"Well," Joe grins, "That's settled. Anyone know where to find Heelys?"

-

He's sprawled on the couch again, watching the towns rush by, iced coffee in his hands. Joe and Patrick have disappeared into the back of the bus (and he suspects they're fucking, but who knows) and Andy is humming along to the radio, which is quiet enough to sound like a faint buzzing noise by the time it reaches his ears.

It's oddly quiet considering the rush this morning, the hyper craziness. Pete looks up to the stars on the ceiling and sighs, eyes fluttering closed momentarily before slipping back to the window. A brilliant sunset's painted the sky with streaks of pink, purple, and gold.

If you were to ask Pete what he prefers- these moments, the quiet ones, the ones where you're alone, or the ones where it's so loud you can't hear your own thoughts- he wouldn't really have an answer. The quiet ones are lovely, absolute bliss, but he has a soft spot for the loud ones. It's an excuse to get away from the whirlwind of thoughts inside his head, the hurricane once thought inescapable. Pete can't decide, but he thinks he'd pick the second one. Of course, lying here now, silent and complacent, that's pretty lovely too.

He takes a sip of the coffee and it chills his throat as he swallows. 

"Andy?" he asks quietly, interrupting the boy's humming.

"Mm?"

"You ever think about this tour? Like, holy shit, it's like the most famous-"

Andy cuts him off with a soft laugh. "No offense, Petey, but I'm not in the mood for your gay emo shit right now."

Pouting, Pete whines, "Why not?" Because he's grown accustomed to everyone listening to his emo shit- because that's basically all his songs.

"I hear it enough. All the songs. All the poems. Save it for when you're sitting here at three in the morning. I love you, kiddo."

Pete sighs. " _Okay_." Should've known Andy wouldn't want to talk about that shit right now. Still, now he doesn't have anyone to talk to.

Well, he could call Mikey...

No, that's stupid. They made out in the middle of the night _once_ , and now Pete wants to go get mushy on him? Fucking stupid. He bunches his legs up and stares, frowning, at his feet. Ooh, careful. His coffee's spilling.

" _Ugh_ ," Pete groans, setting his coffee somewhere and flinging his feet over the top of the couch. "Andy, I'm _bored_."

"Go bother Patrick," Andy says back. "If this was anywhere else, I'd say go fuck yourself, but right now I'm a bit nervous you actually will, and I don't need that mental image, so-"

"I get it," Pete grins, snickering. "Okay. Bit nervous he's fucking Joe right now, though, so-"

" _Who's_  fucking Joe?" Patrick practically yells, appearing out of nowhere. His hair does look suspiciously disheveled, his clothes crooked, his cheeks flushed. "Not me!"

Pete takes a moment to look him up and down, then slowly raises an eyebrow. "Well, good job on keeping it quiet," is all he says, and Patrick's mouth drops open.

"I was _not_ -" he tries.

"Oh, okay." Pete immediately backs up. "I just didn't take you for a bottom, Lunchbox," he corrects himself.

It's really, _really_ funny tormenting Patrick. Because, well, it _does_ look like he just got fucked! And where's Joe? This is all too perfectly suspicious. Oh, and here comes Joe, and shit, his clothes are rumpled _too_ ,  jeans too low on his hips, and-

"Gross," says Pete, "Joe, clean up when you have sex, jesus fucking _christ_."

Joe yawns and buckles his jeans. "Sorry," he drawls, and Patrick blushes an even deeper shade of red, covering his face. "Aw," Joe adds, "You're so cute when you're flustered."

Patrick buries his head in his arms and Pete falls into another bout of hysterical laughter.

And Fall Out Boy turns even, even gayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what even is this chapter honestly im sorry


	6. pete wentz's crazy fans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accidentally posted the next chapter instead of this one oh gosh im sorry also it's really short hhhhhh

Pete decides, then, standing on the edge of the stage uncertainly, maybe this wasn't a good idea.

His feet are wobbling and sliding. Sweat rolls down his back and the crowd yells his name.

Why did he convince Joe to buy him Heelys?

Sighing, resigning himself to a fate surely worse than death, Pete takes a step onto the polished floors. He finds that if he steps with the toe of his foot, he won't slide. But still, it's difficult work, toeing his way to the side of the stage. He can hear scattered laughter from the crowd. "Uh, hi," he yells, "I _seriously_ underestimated how hard it is to walk in Heelys."

Somewhere out in the crowd, someone yells, "That's because you're supposed to _roll_!"

"Yeah, um, not with this thing," Pete calls back, waving his bass. He grins nervously and takes another step, pushing off and attempting to roll, clattering, across the stage. It works. A little bit.

Finally, giving up, he sits down and starts to unlace the fucking annoying shoes. Shouts of 'no, keep them on!' echo from the audience, and he sticks his tongue out. Oh, where is the rest of his fucking band? 

See, he had to come out a little early to keep the crowd complacent. He's pretty sure Joe and Patrick just wanted to make out for a couple more minutes. Aw, shit, there they come now. And _yep_ , Patrick's mouth is red and slightly swollen. Fuck, Patrick, you're _really_ fucking obvious. And Joe, too, his cheeks flushed and hair messed up. 

"Slut," he hisses as Patrick passes. Jokingly, of _course_. What kind of person do you think Pete is?

"Hypocrite," is Patrick's response. Well, damn, Pete thinks despairingly, he's got me there, hasn't he.

So they do another show. And Pete plays it without shoes. He stares down at his socked feet and wiggles his toes, then sticks his foot out at the crowd and proceeds to jump around. _Anything_ to take the notice off of Joe and Patrick. A n y t h i n g. He doesn't want the fans to notice. To make assumptions. Because... well... Pete doesn't exactly know. But- _still_. Publicity! _Bad_ publicity! They don't want that, do they? Definitely not...

Mikey's watching him again. Laughing as he notices the lack of shoes. Pete smiles at him. A gentle smile. Then, again, another smile. This one says, meet me behind the stage once it's over. And Mikey gives him a slight nod, and Pete's stupid gay heart does a little flip, skips a beat to the tune of the song.

The strings cut into his fingers and they throb softly with pain. Pete is readying himself for his part in _I Slept With Someone..._ , thinking how ironic it would be if he ended up sleeping with Mikey. And writing a song about him.

Or an album. Or two.

Nah, he wouldn't do that.

But as soon as the show ends, he slips away, abandoning his bass somewhere. A small coil, white-hot, of jealousy has settled itself in his chest, and it burns with every breath he takes. As he watches Joe and Patrick interact.

Does he long for a relationship? Is that it?

Or does he just want someone to care for him like the two do for each other?

Pete walks in a random direction. Away from the fans. He promised to meet Mikey, but with his mind like this, he'd rather not. Walks, and walks, until it's impossible to hear the music. He's walking down a street, no shoes on, still sweaty, eyeliner streaking down his face.

And, of course, no phone.

Pete has a habit of not thinking things through. Of acting rashly.

He approaches a random girl. Attempts to wipe the eyeliner off as quickly as possible, then asks if he can borrow her phone. 

Her eyes widen.

"Wait," she gasps, "Are you... oh my god- _Pete Wentz_!"

"Um, yeah," he says, blushing, "Look, I just-"

She starts to go off about something, thrusting a pen in his hand, and he signs whatever it is she offers to him, finally convincing her to let him borrow her phone. 

He calls Mikey.

"Hey, uh, can you pick me up? I walked somewhere and I don't know where the hell I am. Right next to this cheesy diner... the street? Fuckin', hold on- shit, I have no idea. Hold on."

He has to pause and ask the girl what street they're on, relaying the information to Mikey. She watches, bug-eyed, clutching her autographed item.

Eventually, he hangs up and hands her the phone. "Thanks," he tells her, smiling genuinely.

"You're welcome," she answers, suddenly shy. "I was wondering, um, if I can have a kiss?"

A kiss? From a pretty much gay dude? Pete hesitates for a moment, then looks at the way her tank top is hugging her chest. "Um, sure," he tells her. "Cheek or lips-?"

She bites her lower lip and looks down, eyelashes brushing her cheek. "Lips," she says in an almost whisper. Pete nearly rolls his eyes but stops, coming forward to brush his mouth against hers. Soft, warm. Not as good as Mikey's, though.

Speaking of, he's just driving up now. Pete says a hasty farewell to the girl and runs to Mikey before she can notice him and flip out again.

When he slides into the car, Mikey sits there for a moment. He glances at Pete, jaw suddenly tense, then sighs. Squares his shoulders, stares straight ahead.

And drives.

Pete rambles about something stupid, insulting himself for wandering off. Mikey doesn't say anything. His grip on the wheel is too tight. 

So Pete cuts himself off in the middle of a sentence. "You okay?"

Mikey's laugh is a dry one. "Just thinking. How I'm stupid for thinking that... that one night made us exclusive."

This is about the fan? Seriously? "Her?" Pete asks incredulously. "She was just a weirdo fan."

"Alright." Mikey shrugs, maybe disbelieving him. "You liked it though. I could tell. It's alright though."

Pete scoffs. "I liked kissing a girl? Yeah, I did. You know what else I like?"

It's a lucky moment. Mikey's just parked the car, turned his head to hear Pete's answer.

"I think I like kissing you more," Pete explains, and proceeds to do just that.

-

Back at the tour bus, finding it empty, Pete and Mikey proceed to sit down on the floor- well, lie down, really, and, just, talk.

Mikey comments on how he likes the glow-in-the-dark stars. "It's like something Gerard would've done," he says, voice quiet and wistful. 

Their hands meet again, one warm, the other cold, fingers lacing together. Pete presses against Mikey, wanting his body heat.

"It was my idea," he answers in a voice too low, "I went and bought them, just ran off the bus in the middle of the night." He sounds guilty. "I do that a lot. I'm rash, and I don't think things through, and I hurt people."

"Yeah?" Mikey's hand is on his thigh. Radiating heat from the spot where skin meets cloth. Pete wishes it was skin to skin. One less layer. Skeleton to skeleton. "You don't hurt me."

Pete's voice is muffled, his hand covering his mouth. "I did. Just back there. With the fan."

This silences Mikey for a little, but he hums and smiles. "Not seriously. You couldn't ever hurt me seriously."

"You say that now." Pete pauses. "God. You don't even know."

"Know what?"

Pete shakes his head, choosing instead to answer the question with a kiss.

Well, it's not a bad alternative after all.


	7. vinyl seats and lovely beats

He wakes up to Patrick yelling about "no sex on the bus." Something brushes his elbow and he immediately recognizes Mikey, flustered and blushing, sitting beside him.

Pete blinks his eyes open and grins at Patrick. "Honey, this is where _all_ the magic happens, rules or no rules. And I recall a _certain_ rule breaking going on the other day..." He waggles his eyebrows and Patrick flushes crimson, glancing back at the unknowing Joe.

"Don't mention that!" he hisses, then quickly apologizes to Mikey. "You should go, though," he adds, "They're looking for you."

"How late is it?" Mikey asks, and at hearing the answer- midnight- he bites his lip and laughs. "Whoops. Didn't mean to stay so late. See ya, Pete."

"See ya." Pete grins lazily as the other boy gets up and waves goodbye, looking sheepish as he exits the bus.

And then Patrick's on him like a nosy mom, interrogating, asking, prying. "What did you guys do? Did you- _you know_? Fuck? Are you dating?"

"One at a time, Stump," Pete answers, getting up slowly. "No, we didn't fuck. We talked. And I have no fuckin' idea if we're dating or not, cause the only people who give a shit about that are the media, and I don't really want them knowing shit about me. Hell, this is probably just a summer thing. Just for kicks. Okay?"

Patrick blinks at him. "Um... Okay." Then a sly smile spreads across his face. "You're so in love."

"What!" Pete cries, "I am _not_!"

But there is a tiny doubting voice at the back of his mind, saying... Well, maybe he is.

That, however, is a problem for another day.

So he smiles at Patrick instead and carefully explains that no, he is not in love with Mikey fucking Way, kindly fuck off and go screw Joe, thank you and good _night_.

Patrick frowns at him and flips him off, but does eventually leave him.

Thank god. Pete makes his way to his bunk and flops down, feeling exhaustion creep over his eyes despite having just slept. It occurs to him that the rest of his band must've skipped the after party. Briefly, he wonders if Mikey ended up going.

That thought is enough to fling him awake again. Sighing, Pete climbs out of bed, making sure to keep quiet, and sneaks out of the tour bus.

It's loud, the music. Seems to have gotten louder than last time. He wanders through the maze of tour buses for a while until he finds the one clearly identified as Mikey's. Taps on the door. A drunk, happy Gerard pulls the door open and Pete inside.

"Wentz!" he exclaims. "Here for my lil brother?"

"Um," Pete blushes, "Maybe. Is he here?"

"Course," Gerard grins. And then, over his shoulder, hollers: "MIKEY! Pete's here!"

There's a loud thump and then Mikey comes in, his hair a complete mess and a sour expression on his face. "Frank pushed me out of the bed," he grumbles. "Get your fucking boyfriend under control."

"Frank isn't my _boyfriend_ ," Gerard whines. "But yours is here."

"What?" Mikey spots Pete and immediately attempts to smooth his unruly hair down. "Shit, ah, we aren't dating."

Gerard has a devilish smile on his face. "Not yet," he grins, and Mikey nearly pelts him with a nearby pillow.

"Fuck you," Mikey says to Gerard, scowling, but his expression immediately clears up when he faces Pete again. "You want to go outside?"

Pete bobs his head, open to any of Mikey's ideas, and then follows him into the cool air. A faint smell of weed has floated towards them, and Mikey half-smiles, taking Pete's hand to lead them somewhere. A thrill runs through Pete- he's not usually one for holding hands, but after this, he might be.

He's up for anything as long as it concerns him and Mikey.

"Where are we going?" he asks eventually, after they've cleared the parking lot and the sounds of yelling and partying have faded behind them. Mikey shrugs and mumbles an inadequate answer. He doesn't know. Neither does Pete. He finds it a little worrying that they're going somewhere without their phones, but for him, he supposes, making these sorts of stupid decisions is almost routine.

Finally, Mikey stops. They're at a diner, one of those neon, '50s restaurants. Mikey fishes a twenty out of his pocket and raises an eyebrow at Pete, who stares back, puzzled.

"You hungry?" Mikey asks finally.

"Oh! Uh, yeah. Fucking starving." Pete tightens his grip on Mikey's hand and marches in, adding, "I'll pay you back later."

"You don't have to," Mikey tells him, but Pete insists.

They're seated in a cute little booth with vinyl seats, facing each other, and Pete grabs for the menus. This is the kind of restaurant where you feel obliged to order a milkshake and sit at the bar, kicking your Doc Martens against the high stool you're seated on, sipping your shake and twirling your cotton candy pink hair around your finger.

That is, if you're a girl.

But Pete does order a vanilla milkshake anyway, and when Mikey gets the same thing, proceeds to make fun of him. "I always knew you liked white creamy stuff," he grins, and Mikey sticks his tongue out at him. "Very mature."

"Hypocrite," Mikey shoots back, then politely looks up at the pretty, tired waitress and fires off his order. It's a burger and fries, because standard diner food? A shake, burger, and fries. Pete almost feels embarrassed to order the same things, but he does so anyway.

The girl smiles at them and writes down their orders. Her gaze lingers on Pete, and for a moment he's afraid she's going to comment on something- his still-smeared eyeliner, his emo hair, or something- but she just walks away, pushing her blond hair over one shoulder. It's shot through with blue streaks, and Pete admires it for a second, wondering whether he could pull off dyed hair.

"You know," says Mikey, propping his chin up with his hand and gazing at Pete, "I've been thinking about what Gerard said." He gives Pete a moment to run over what Gerard said, then continues. "Are we dating?"

"Only if you want to," Pete answers immediately, then pauses. "Wait. Don't answer that. Answer this. Mikey Way, will you be my boyfriend?"

Mikey smirks at him. "Consider this a date. I'll tell you my answer depending on how well all this goes."

Slightly embarrassed, his heart pounding, Pete settles back in his vinyl seat and nods slowly. "Okay. I can respect that."

"Good. Cause if you didn't, I'd leave." Mikey pushes his hair out of his eyes and glances at the ceiling, taking in the retro music. "Shit, I love these diners."

"Me too," Pete says, and only then does he realize he's staring at Mikey like he's the one who put all the stars in the sky. Stupid Pete. He drops his gaze to the table, swirling his finger against the wood, trying not to blush. But shit, Mikey just looks really attractive, his cheeks pink from being outside, his hat not perfectly straight for once, but hanging unruly around his face...

"You okay?" Mikey asks, reaching out to touch Pete's hand, and Pete immediately confirms.

"Just peachy," he grins, "Although starving."

"Me too," says Mikey, his eyes soft and full of fondness. And then suddenly they steel up again, as if he doesn't want to appear so vulnerable. So... In love?

Could Patrick have been right?

Are they in love?

No. That's stupid. Pete purses his lips and takes a deep breath. They're not in love. Calm down. Don't get too ahead of yourself. Mikey could never love you- you're being stupid.

The waitress comes round with their food and a smile. The two boys thank her, then immediately begin to dig in, not even caring that they're eating at one in the fucking morning.

"You're not leaving until tomorrow, right?" Pete asks. "Wouldn't want you to get stuck here with no bus."

"Nope," Mikey answers, "But if that happened, I could just go with you guys."

Pete's mouth dries up at the thought of Mikey, sleeping beside him peacefully. God, he must look so pretty asleep-

"Right," says Pete, worried by his own thoughts, "Course you could. I don't know if we have enough space, but..."

Mikey smiles with one side of his mouth and bites the end of a fry. "I could just sleep with you."

At this, Pete chokes on his milkshake. Face turning a horrible shade of red, he manages to sputter out, "Yeah- I guess you c-could," and then immediately dissolves into helpless laughter that Mikey joins in on.

"Sorry, that was poorly worded." Mikey's eyes are twinkling. "You get what I mean, though?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I got it." Pete scratches the back of his head and grins stupidly. Okay, let's _not_ think about Mikey sleeping with him, right? Come on, Pete, don't think about how he must look with his shirt off, his pants off... Seriously, stop it, that's weird. Don't rush into this so quickly. Take things s...l...o...w.

"This is good," Mikey says absentmindedly, taking a long sip of his milkshake. He dips a fry in it, and despite Pete's audible disgust, eats it, voicing his approval. Pete squints at him and then tries the same. It actually tastes pretty good.

"Who knew?" Pete smiles, a bit of white smeared on the corner of his lip. He quickly licks it off and sighs, not able to catch and stop himself from staring at Mikey this time. He's just really, really fucking pretty.

Mikey blushes- seriously, _blushes_ , and it's the cutest thing- gazing down at the table. "We should go back after this," he says, but something in his voice tells Pete he doesn't really want to.

"We could. Or we could go for a walk," Pete suggests. "How 'bout that?"

"I like that." Mikey calls for the waitress and pays with his crumpled twenty, biding her a fairwell with a genuine smile. It's a smile that lights up his whole face, a smile that Pete wants to stare at for the rest of his life.

Shit, since when is he so cheesy?

They walk out into the cool night air, and their hands find each other again. Pete keeps tripping over his own feet because he's too distracted by Mikey- seriously, it sounds cheesy as hell, but it's true. Eventually Mikey stops and takes his face in his hands, pressing a long, long kiss to Pete's compliant lips.

"Shit," Mikey says aloud, then kisses him again, with no further clarification.

They stand that way, arms wrapped around each other, in a slow make out session, quite literally in the middle of a field, and it's silent and peaceful and Pete just wants to stay here forever. Him, Mikey, and nothing else.

He hangs his arms around Mikey's neck and presses his cheek against the other boy's chest. "I can feel your heart," he murmurs. "It's loud."

Mikey wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on Pete's head. "Yeah. It happens when I'm around you."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Cause I'm excited, obviously. And nervous. And in- and happy." Mikey cuts himself off, looking as if he nearly said something he shouldn't have. Pete shrugs it off, though. Both of them have been pretty weird tonight.

"You wanna go back now?" he asks, almost a sigh, not wanting to. But he knows they have to eventually, and Mikey agrees grudgingly. "Okay." He takes Mikey's hand and kisses him again, slow and soft and lingering.

Sometimes it's the time for rough kisses. For when you can't get enough, when you feel like your lips are on fire the second they touch the other persons'. But these kisses, the slow ones, they're like poison, from one set of lips to the other. You know you're dying, it's killing you, but you can't get enough. You need more. You'll do anything. Even die, then, if it's truly poison.

Pete doesn't know what the hell he's thinking now, but who cares, anyway?

"Mikey?" he asks as they get back to the buses. "Is this a successful date?"

Mikey smiles at him. It's the genuine, real smile that Pete has- yes- fallen in love with. "Yeah," he says.

"So..." Pete prompts him.

"We're dating," Mikey confirms, and they kiss again. "But it's got to be a secret, okay? We can't let the media find out."

"Okay," Pete whispers, slightly breathless. He'd do anything for Mikey. He'd snatch the moon from the sky if it meant making Mikey happy. "Our little secret."


	8. you're a total loser. that's what i like about you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another absolute mess of a chapter rip me

Pete is, truth be told, absolutely awful at keeping secrets. There's not one that he's known that he hasn't blurted.

That's why he's so scared at Mikey trusting him to keep their secret relationship, well, secret. He just _knows_ that the second he gets drunk, all the secrets will spill from his lips like a knocked over glass, pouring things out even when nobody wants them to.

Okay, that was a bad simile. But you get the idea, yeah?

Anyway, this would've been all well and fine if Pete drank only a little bit. But the thing is, Pete has zero regard for his own life. You'll be lucky to see him without cigarette or beer in hand, maybe even some other mind-altering substance. So he's pretty much fucked now. Also, living on a bus with three other boys- the secret's bound to get out soon.

Ah, shit.

He awakes to the sounds of a yelling girl. Slowly opening his eyes, he sees an angry, flustered girl, her cheeks red and her hair messed up, yelling at Patrick.

Shit. What happened?

He pushes himself up on one elbow and glares at the two of them. "Patrick, what the hell is going on? Who the fuck is she?"

The girl turns to him, angry and upset. Her makeup is smeared. "Your lead singer is a _fag_!" she screams, and the words cut deep.

Wait. Does that mean she knows about Patrick and Joe?

"What the hell do you mean?" he exclaims. "Don't be fucking rude."

Her upper lip curls in disgust. "I saw him. Making out with another guy. If I were you, I would kick him out of the band."

"Lady," says Pete, absolutely bewildered, "It's 2005. You can't be homophobic anymore."

She narrows her eyes at him. "As _soon_ as I get home, I'm burning all my Fall Out Boy things. You _disgust_ me."

With that, she flips him off and storms off the bus.

Patrick looks at Pete and his eyes fill with tears. "S-she called me a fag," he whispers.

"Shit," Pete sighs. "Patrick, come here." He pulls the younger boy into a hug. "Why was she here?"

"I think Andy must've, um, invited her on, but Joe and I didn't know so we just... And then she noticed, and started yelling, and Andy and Joe just- I d-don't know where they are." Tears start to spill down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Pete."

"You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault. She's just an absolute bitch- and she looks like a cheap hooker, too," Pete reassures him. Patrick giggles and hiccups.

"She does."

"So- you good?" Pete ruffles his hair reassuringly and Patrick nods. "Cool. Okay. Um, what state are we in?"

"I have no idea. New York? Minnesota? Fuck me if I know," Patrick grins.

"No thank you, I've got Mikey for that," Pete shoots back, laughing. "Speaking of. Where is he?"

"The two of you should stay apart for a little," Patrick says suddenly. "I don't think that girl will try anything, but if she does-"

Pete feels the blood rush from his face. Stay away from Mikey? Is that even _possible_? "Um," he mumbles. "Do I have to?"

Patrick looks pained. "Yeah. Yeah, preferably."

S h i t.

-

He does go to Mikey anyway, because fuck Patrick, right? The two of them walk away from the tour buses, off to the side. Mikey looks worried as they sit down on the ground.

"You haven't told anyone, have you?" he blurts immediately.

"Not outright. I've joked about it to Patrick, and he told me to stay away from you for a bit, but-"

Mikey hugs his knees. "Pete..."

"Yeah?" Pete brushes the hair away from Mikey's face. "Baby?"

"What if someone finds out?"

"I get what you mean. There was a girl on the bus today. Don't know how she got there. Called Patrick a- a fag."

Mikey goes pale. "What did she look like?"

Pete's immediate response is, "Like a cheap hooker. Why?"

"No," Mikey corrects himself, but he's laughing, "What color hair did she have?"

"Um..." Pete thinks back. "Orange. Like dyed orange. Why?"

This sends Mikey into a fit of gasps/laughter. "I know her! Shit! She's homophobic as hell and Gee punched her in the face last year."

Pete smiles carefully, but the worried look on Mikey's face hasn't quite disappeared yet. "Mikey," he says, throwing in a customary chuckle at the homophobic girl. "I promise no one will find out."

This wipes the smile from the thin boy's face. "I believe you," he mutters, shrugs. His words blow away in the wind. Pete feels pain pull at his heart, feels his stomach go whirling round. "I l-" He stops again. "Yeah. I believe you."

"I'm also bad at keeping secrets," Pete confesses. "And promises."

Mikey sighs in fake exasperation. "God _dammit_ , Wentz."

"You love me," Pete reminds him, grinning, leaning for a kiss. Mikey kisses back but doesn't say anything. His face is serious. "Okay, maybe love is too strong," Pete amends. "Fight me."

It's at this that Mikey chuckles, busying himself with fixing Pete's collar. "When's your next concert?"

"Five days. We're just trying to travel with the group right now. You?"

"Me too." Mikey lifts his face to Pete'sc his dazzling smile once again lighting up his eyes. They kiss. Slowly. Then stronger, Mikey slowly pushing Pete over into the grass, surrounded by tall stalks of- okay, is that fucking _corn_?

"Are we in a corn field?" Pete chokes out, caught up in hysterics.

"Oops. Yeah, maybe." Mikey grins. "That's not important, though." His thumb slides over Pete's cheek as their lips meet again.

After a while, Pete breaks the heavy, thick silence with a, "Wanna go back to my... My bus?"

Smirking, Mikey offers to go to his instead. "It's probably empty. Unlike yours."

"True," Pete agrees, and off they go, hands hot and nestled against each other.

Miley's right about his bus being empty. They're all over each other in seconds, Mikey pushing him down against the couch, mouth hot against his neck, leaving marks everywhere he can. Shirts come off, pants unbuckle.

"Shit," Pete gasps out, his fingers sliding over Mikey's bare back, leaving thin red marks. "M-Mikey?"

"Mm?" Mikey bites Pete's collarbone and smiles as the boy whines involuntarily.

"W-we should-"

Pete's voice is cut off. The bus door flings open, a snatch of conversation is heard- "Yeah, I'll get it, it's on your bunk yeah?" And then a heavy, heavy silence fills the bus.

Pete and Mikey spring apart, but there's no denying what happened. Bare chests, pants sliding down, their necks and backs marked up.

The intruder, most likely one of Gerard's friends, stares. And stares. His eyes get larger and larger.

After a moment, Pete launches into a desperate explanation, but the stranger waves him off. His eyebrows lower. Eventually, he speaks, in a gruff, horrified voice.

"What the _hell_?"

Growing rather cross, Pete reaches for his shirt and pulls it on. "Look, buddy, you better go-"

"Knew this band was a bunch of fuckin' fags," the guy announces, looking thoroughly disgusted. His eyes land on Mikey. "Is your brother one of them too?"

Mikey doesn't move. He's frozen to his seat, eyes wide in terror, face paler than snow.

"Go the fuck away," Pete snaps. "And don't say those things."

He sort of can't believe it himself. First Patrick, now him and Mikey. In one day. What the hell is going on...

"What? Fag? Cause that's what you are." The guy laughs. "Anyway, I'm gonna go before you two try to... _Convert_ me, or whatever it is you faggots do."

He marches off the bus.

Mikey doesn't move.

"Hey," Pete mumbles, his voice growing softer as he turns to Mikey. "It's okay. Hey. Mikey?"

Mikey's eyes fill up with tears and he gasps softly as they spill. "You promised."

The words are a punch to his gut, leaving him breathless. Pete feels shame creep up his neck in the form of a blush, his face going hot. "Mikey, baby boy, I'm so sorry, I didn't know this would happen..." He reaches out, touching Mikey's face gently. The boy flinches away, biting his lip. The tears continue.

"It's not your fault," Mikey whispers eventually. "It's mine, for thinking that we'd have the bus to ourselves. Shit, Pete, I'm sorry." He turns big, watery eyes to Pete. "D'you think he'll tell anyone?"

"No, of course not. Gerard is gonna kill him." Pete pulls Mikey into a hug. "I l-"

"What?" Mikey's chin rests on Pete's shoulder.

"Nothing," Pete mumbles, waiting impatiently for the day he'll finally be able to say it.

-

Gerard does, in fact, punch the guy, even though he's weak and emo. Okay, it's Frank who punches him, and Frank is terrifyingly strong for such a short boy. It's impressive, watching the much bigger guy limp away from Frank, his nose bleeding uncontrollably and his arms crossed over his gut.

Pete and Mikey decide that it's best for them to stay away from each other. It hurts. A lot. Pete knows he's probably just being stupid, falling for Mikey too quickly, but being away from him is actually, legitimately painful. Patrick notices. It's kind of hard not to.

"Are you okay?" he approaches Pete once, later at night. The older boy is sat on the couch, staring out the window, but he jerks up at the sound of Patrick's voice. "Pete?"

"What? Yes. Why?"

Patrick sits beside him, licking his lips nervously. "I'm a bit worried."

"About?"

"You."

Rolling his eyes, Pete tears his eyes away from the window. "Why?" He's cross. Annoyed. It's not unusual these past couple days, and Patrick utters a small sigh.

"Come _on_. You've been sulking and moping around. Is this about Mikey?" Patrick crosses his arms, waiting for an answer that refuses to come. " _Pete_." He kicks the older boy, who yelps in pain and glares at Patrick with narrowing eyes.

"Fuck off. It's none of your business."

"Actually, being your band member, it fucking _is_. So what's up?"

"Nothing. Go fuck yourself." Pete continues glaring with absolutely no change in his expression. Patrick rolls his eyes. "What? You're being fuckin' annoying."

"Oh, am I, now? You think you're not annoying, moping around and whining all the time?" Patrick cocks his eyebrow at Pete.

"I don't _whine_." Pete is scowling now, a look of pure and utter disgust on his face.

Seeing this is getting him nowhere, Patrick leans forward and grabs Pete's shirt, pulling him closer until their faces are inches apart. Pete's face goes slightly pale. "You fucking idiot," Patrick pronounces calmly, "If you don't get over this by our next show, I'll kick you out of the band. You understand?"

Pete licks his lips quickly, his eyes flicking down to Patrick's mouth and then back up. "Y-yeah," he stutters. "I understand."

Satisfied, Patrick releases his shirt and sits back. "Can I go now?"

"Y-yeah." Pete watches him go, mouth slightly open. Then, as soon as Patrick is out of ear shot, he turns to Andy and says, "Goddamn. You know how much dominant guys turn me on?"

"That's disgusting," Andy replies. "Besides, don't you have Mikey?"

Pete nods slowly. "And Patrick has Joe." His face suddenly turns to horror. "I'm not attracted to Patrick, though! That's not what I meant! He's five years younger than me. No thank you."

Andy snickers. "Okay, cool. I get it. You're not attracted to Patrick."

" _Seriously_ ," Pete insists. "Don't get any ideas! I'm not- into him!"

"Pete, you're just making it sound worse. Shut up now, before I start to suspect anything." Andy's voice is rather calm, but he starts laughing by the end of his sentence.

Insulted, Pete shuts up, but not before mumbling a final, "Okay, but I'm _not_ attracted to him, just so you know."


	9. "god- do you always overreact like this?"

Mikey won't talk to him. Hell, he won't even look at him. There is absolutely zero contact between them. They don't come to each other's shows anymore, either. Pete's temper has grown worse, and the band hardly dares to approach him now. Only Patrick can, and he tries his best to talk some sense into his good friend. But nothing works.

"You're not playing as well," he says despairingly one day, and Pete sighs. "It's like you want our band to fail."

"I don't want that," Pete answers softly, "I just want Mikey back." And he turns his back to Patrick and refuses to speak again.

Eventually even Patrick gives up on talking to him, and Pete thinks he's safe. No one will bother him anymore, because no one cares anymore, and as soon as they play their last show he'll go to the after party and get himself drunk as hell, and then find some tall building or some shit and off himself.

In his mind, it's an absolutely fantastic idea. Yes, he messed up before, but this time, he'll do it. This time will be successful.

But before he does, he decides to apologize to Mikey. Again he starts showing up at the boy's concerts, plopping himself on a giant speaker and grinning as the other boy whirls around with a bass not much smaller than him. Mikey seems not to notice, except for one day, where he corners Pete as soon as the show ends.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks quietly, his bass discarded and his arms trapping Pete. "I told you not to bother me anymore. People have found out. They're not stupid, Pete. They see the way you stare at me."

Inside Pete, a little flame goes out, and his grin droops at the corners. "I know," he mumbles, much like an embarrassed child speaking to their scolding mother. "I'm sorry, Mikey."

Mikey doesn't answer for a bit and Pete glances up. "It's okay," Mikey says eventually, fighting a smile. He pulls Pete into a hug and drops his angry façade. "I'll be honest," he mutters into Pete's shirt, "I missed you like _hell_."

"So did I," Pete replies, and the flame is back again, warming the inside of his chest. "Ask my band members. They can rant about me for hours."

"I'm sure they can," Mikey promises, pulling away. His eyes are gentle, inspecting Pete's tired face. "You look different. Trouble sleeping?" At Pete's nod, his face twists into a grimace. "Poor baby." His soft lips deliver a kiss to Pete's forehead, brushing his hair back. "Want to share a bus tonight?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment. Pete is hesitating, thinking about the last show. He might accidentally leak his plan. And Mikey can't know about that, no- never. "That would be great," he says finally, genuinely, pushing the thoughts away. He smiles up at Mikey. "It's good to have you back, pretty boy," and Mikey smiles back.

-

They are on the couch on Fall Out Boy's bus, the six of them- Fall Out Boy - Andy + Mikey + Gerard + Frank- celebrating. There's really nothing _to_ celebrate except Pete finally being his old self again, which is as good a reason as any, and that's why they're currently passing around champagne and yelling.

"Anyone up for a round of Truth or Dare?" Patrick inquires, drunkenly falling over into Joe's lap, who doesn't seem to mind at all. His suggestion is met with even more excited yelling. "Okay! Everyone come here on the floor and get'n a circle." They comply, a circle of Pete-Mikey-Frank-Gerard-Joe-Patrick and back to Pete again.

Mikey is leaning on Pete, his hand around the other boy's arm. Pete is grinning wildly, licking champagne off his lips. "Who goes first?" Pete asks, eyes sparkling mischievously. He's got a trick up his sleeve, this is obvious.

"I will," Patrick tells him. "Okay. Uh..." His half-lidded eyes dart around the room, finally settling on Gerard. "Gee," he announces, and the black-haired boy leans forward in excitement. "Truth or dare?"

"Hm," Gerard pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He takes a sip of beer. "Dare."

"Yes!" Patrick's fist shoots up in the air. "Okay. I dare you to kiss Frank."

Really, it's all rather childish, just little kissing dares and all, but anyone can agree that truth or dare is ridiculously fun. Especially watching how Gerard's face pales slightly and immediately afterward flushes red. "Pass," he protests, but a rising chant of his name forces him to go on with it. So he, hesitating, eventually turns to Frank and grabbing his face, pulling him in for what _should've_ been nothing more than a quick kiss. However, it eventually turns into a full-on makeout session that Pete has to break up, pulling the two of them away from each other as Mikey whines and fake-gags at having to "see _my own brother_ do that, _ew_ -"

"Maybe," Pete suggests, "We _don't_ dare couples to kiss each other?"

Gerard immediately bursts in: "Frank and I aren't a _couple_!"

"Of course you aren't. My bad," Pete says, smirking.

"Well, um, okay," Patrick stutters, his cheeks pink. "Then it's your turn, Gerard." He motions for the boy to speak.

Gerard runs a hand through his hair. "Sure. Mikey, how 'bout you? Truth or dare?"

His brother scowls at him. "Dare, you fucker."

A grin spreads across Gerard's face. "I won't dare you to kiss Pete, no- don't look so hopeful. Actually, you know what?" Mikey begins to look slightly worried. "I dare you to run around all the buses in your underwear."

"What!" Mikey yells, "that's not fair!"

"You gotta," Pete tells him, most likely grinning at the thought of Mikey in underwear. "C'mon, Mikes."

"Fine," Mikey grumbles, stripping down to a pair of gray boxers. "I fucking hate you," he says to Gerard, crossing his arms over his pale, skinny chest. Then he gingerly steps outside, looks around, and takes off.

"I was gonna dare him to do it naked," Gerard says wistfully, "But considering he's my brother..."

"You should've," Pete sighs, getting a cuff on the ear from Gerard. "Ow!"

"Don't talk about my brother like that," Gerard grins, right as Mikey goes zooming back. "And here he is!"

Mikey glares at Gerard as the others fall over themselves in hysterics. "Fuck all of you."

"You cold?" Pete asks as everyone sits back down. "Wait, don't get dressed. Sit on my lap, I'm warm."

"Perv," Joe calls as Mikey nestles himself between Pete's thighs.

"Hypocrite," Pete says back.

This is true.

-

He wakes up sweaty. Mikey's lying on top of him, his bare chest pressing against Pete's. Why are they both without a shirt and- after a quick check- pants, too?  Oh, right- truth or dare.

Mikey's hair falls in his face, sticking to his wet lips. He looks gorgeous. The faint light highlights his impressive cheekbones, eyelashes long and thick. God. He's perfect. He's absolutely fucking perfect.

Pete will really miss him.

There's only about two weeks till the end of Warped Tour. Only two weeks till he can try again. Try and kill himself. Y'know.

Looking at the sleeping boy on top of him, a flicker of doubt ignites somewhere in Pete's mind. He pushes it away. Don't be stupid, he tells himself, and don't get attached. And anyway, it's not like Mikey cares about you too. It's not like he loves you back. You're just a summer crush for him. Soon as this is over, he'll discard you. And then you can- you can go. And do what you planned. You can kill yourself.

He needs to stop spoiling the fucking mood.

It must be about two in the morning right about now. Everyone else is in their bunks. Gerard and Frank are probably cuddled up on the couch, or on the floor. Pete can't remember how the game ended. As they got drunker, the dares got wilder, the truths got...

Suddenly, he remembers one truth Mikey answered.

It was Frank who asked. "Mikey," he'd said, "You in love with anyone? Like really, truly, in love?"

Mikey stared at his thighs. A blush slowly colored his face. Eventually, he whispered, almost imperceptibly, "Yeah."

There was a moment of silence, then the game went on.

Pete spent the rest of the game caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts, thinking about who it could be. He nearly asked Mikey, but he couldn't bear knowing the answer.

It couldn't be him. That's impossible. No one would _ever_ love Pete, and that was fact, cold hard fact, he's just completely incapable of that. Unlovable.

"Mikey," he whispers, the word hanging in the air. The boy stirs slightly, mumbling something from sticky wet lips.

"Mmf... P-Pete..." Not the most accurate translation- Mikey's speech is far more slurred- but Pete's name is obvious. Mikey whimpers, but not in a... bad way. He grabs Pete's arm, curls his fingers around it. Pete is frozen.

"Mikey," he repeats, "Wake up, you're having a- oh god. Oh boy."

Mikey's leg slides over Pete, and he's fully draped along the older boy, and he's... definitely not shifting his crotch, no, not at all-

He whimpers again. Almost moans. Somewhere in the tangle of sounds, Pete's name slips out again. Mikey's nails dig into Pete's arm, his hips shifting again. Desperate sounds come from the back of his throat. "F-fuck, P-Pete, _Pete_ -"

His eyes pop open.

"Shit," Mikey mutters, stares down at Pete's bare chest, then his own. He has the grace to look flustered, embarrassed. "Please tell me I wasn't..."

Pete grins. A not-so-small part of him wishes Mikey hadn't woken up.

" _Fuck_ ," Mikey moans, dropping his head to Pete's chest again. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Pete reassures him, wanting to hear the whimpers again. "You're good. Go back to sleep."

Mikey nods sleepily and drifts off again, little warm breaths open-mouthed against Pete's chest. He strokes a hand through Mikey's hair absent-mindedly.

That was, without a doubt, the hottest thing he's heard in his life, and Pete's watched (and experienced!) an above-average amount of porn. Yeah. There's a half-naked, hot as all fuck boy on his chest, moaning his name- or he _had_ been, at least- and if you thought Pete wouldn't be hard by now, you're goddamn wrong.

He kinda wants to try and wake Mikey up again. They can sneak off for a little bit. No one will notice- and besides, Pete's boxers are _awfully_ tight. He's gotten tired of jerking off. (Well, not really, but he prefers the real deal.)

"Mikes?" he asks quietly, deciding that if Mikey doesn't wake up, he won't ask again. But the boy hasn't been sleeping, and his eyes slide open again.

"I was waiting for you to give in," Mikey grins. "Knew you couldn't resist for long."

"You fucker," Pete groans, careful to keep his voice low. "C-can we sneak off-"

"I don't want to get up," Mikey interrupts. "Why not here...?"

Pete's eyes widen slightly. "B-but if they wake up..."

The smirk on Mikey's face is all he needs to know.

Their lips meet sloppily. The alcohol is still affecting them. Pete's hands go in Mikey's hair and pull gently, and then not-so-gently as Mikey moans into the other boy's mouth. His legs wrap around Pete's waist and he grinds down, not willing to really go all the way, not here. Not now. Pete doesn't mind.

Mikey slowly slides his hand down Pete's side, playing with the edge of his boxers, his hand eventually slipping inside. Pete is panting, just a little bit, small mewls and "Mikey"'s slipping out from his red, red lips as Mikey grips him and moves his hand confidently, God, fuck, it feels so _good_ \- Pete stretches up to capture Mikey's lips again and then his brain explodes in a cover of white. His mouth falls open, hips bucking, and Mikey keeps fucking stroking him through it until Pete can't even think, he's just lost in blissful pleasure. Who knew you could come so hard just from someone jacking you off? And so quickly, too...

Finally, Mikey's hand lets go, and Pete returns the favor, appreciating how fucking gorgeous Mikey looks with his swollen lips in an 'O', his eyes shut, hair all messed and skin shiny with sweat. They're going to be all gross now, but Pete couldn't care less.

"That was good," he says afterward, and Mikey's seized up in a fit of hysterics.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Good." Then his lips pull down slightly and he looks apprehensive. "Look, I know this isn't the right time, but I'm a bit worried about you."

Pete, who's using a nearby old shirt to wipe off the two of them, stops. "What do you mean?"

"I heard what Patrick was talking about. How quiet you've been. You're okay, right?"

"Of course," Pete answers immediately, and Mikey kisses him gratefully.

"Alright. I would be surprised if you weren't."

Pete wonders if Mikey would be surprised if he found out the last time Pete took his meds- that is, about three weeks ago.


	10. counting sheep and losing sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the super late update !!

With the absence of his meds, his behavior has grown erratic. And so have his sleep patterns. The last time he slept longer than an hour (that is, the last time he took meds, or sleeping pills) was about three weeks ago.

Pete isn't quite sure whether he's hallucinating or not when they step out of the tour bus and a mass crowd of people swarms them. Pete's eyes widen and he looks around. "What a crowd."

Patrick glances at him sidelong. "There's... no one here, Pete."

"I know. I was making a joke," Pete snaps back, but he's afraid. The people, the hallucination is still there. They grab at his shirt and yell things in his ear. Visibly shaken, he staggers to Patrick and grabs his elbow to steady himself.

"Are you alright?" Patrick asks, worried. "Pete?"

"Fine," Pete utters. "Bit hungover. Can we get coffee?"

Patrick regards him curiously but agrees. "Coffee would be good. Andy said there's a Starbucks just down the road." He steadies Pete as the boy stumbles. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Just dandy," Pete mutters, shrugging free of Patrick's touch. "Do you have money?" Patrick holds up a ten dollar bill in response. "Okay. Race you?"

-

He lies sprawled out on the bus's couch, exhausted but unable to sleep. There's a empty coffee cup on the table and two inviting sleeping pills in his pocket that are calling his name. He curls his fingers around them, sighing heavily.

"You good?" Mikey asks, coming in right as he sighs. It's become routine now for Mikey to come on the bus whenever he feels like it.

"Peachy," Pete says, sitting up. He grins at Mikey, but falters.

"You look awful," Mikey tells him, sitting down beside him. "Pete?"

He does, really, he looks absolutely fucking terrible and it's gotten ridiculously noticeable. Heavy bags and under eye circles droop under his eyes, stubble flecking his chin, bloodshot eyes, messy hair, and a sluggish way of moving. "I'm fine," he insists, putting his hand on top of Mikey's from where it rests on Pete's skinny, jean-clad thigh.

"You're lying to my face." Mikey looks pissed off. "Pete, when's the last time you slept?"

"I slept an hour last night," Pete shrugs, "And every night before that. These last two or three weeks." The look on Mikey's face grows increasingly shocked.

"Baby," he whispers. "You need to sleep."

"I _can't_ ," Pete snaps, "I can't fucking sleep. Not without sleeping pills."

"So take some," Mikey suggests quietly.

"I refuse. I need to learn how to function without my meds. Or any sort of pill for that matter."

Mikey pauses. His hand slowly leaves Pete's leg and his eyes begin to widen. "You haven't taken your meds." It's not a question, it's a statement, and it's filled with so much horror that Pete wants to throw up. "Pete, I hope you know how much of an absolute _fucking_ idiot you are. You are on a tour. You have an obligation- to me, to your fans, to the other members of your band- to fucking stay sane and maybe not try to fucking die? Have you considered that? How fucking selfish you are- God, I can't handle this. Pete, take your fucking meds. Right now."

"I, uh..." Pete's eyes flick up to Mikey's. "Um. No."

"What the hell do you mean, _no_?" Mikey's jaw clenches. "Pete, this isn't fucking funny!"

"I know. I'm not joking." Pete holds Mikey's gaze calmly, regarding him. "Look, there's only one way for me to get better, and that's quitting my pills. They're clouding my mind. I can't think- Mikey, I can't _write_. This is the only way I make progress in my lyrics! All I want- all I'm focusing on right now- is this band. Without it, I'm- I'm nothing. And if I can't write lyrics, then what good am I to the band?" His hand is shaking, grabbing for Mikey's wrist. "You gotta understand. Please tell me you understand."

Mikey shakes off Pete's grip. "All I understand is that right now, you're being the most selfish asshole I've ever met. Look, just take one sleeping pill, for fuck's sake. This isn't even about the band anymore. This is about you. Do you _want_ to die? Wait, no, I know the answer to that. Pete, I'm begging you. Just sleep for a little bit, and we'll talk this over when you wake up, when you're thinking clearly."

"But I _am_ thinking clearly. And if I sleep, if I take my meds, then I _won't_ be! Mikey, yo, you're talking crazy shit. I'm not going to die from not sleeping." 

"Actually, yes you fucking are. Now come on. I don't care how clearly or fuzzily you'll be thinking once you wake up, all I fucking care about is-" Mikey's eyes soften suddenly. "I just want you to be okay. I care about you, you know. This is killing me."

Pete's mouth drops open. "Don't guilt trip me, Mikes. I'm fine, I _promise_."

In response, Mikey leans in and kisses him gently. "Just one nap is all I ask. And I'll be right here."

He watches as Pete mulls this over- you can practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he looks down, bites his lip, then pulls out the two sleeping pills from his pocket and mumbles, "Get me some water."

Smiling again, Mikey fetches him a glass, and watches as he downs it along with the pills, stumbling to his bunk.

"Sleep with me, Way," Pete yawns, the pills already pulling him under. Mikey grins, lying down next to him and wrapping his arms around the boy.

"Eventually," he whispers, and then, as Pete falls into a deep sleep, he adds: "God- I love you so much. And you don't even fucking know."

-

They both wake up the next morning, having slept seventeen hours, give or take.

"Fuck," Pete groans, stretching and yawning. "Mikey, I slept."

"Yeah, me too," Mikey says. "Not bad, huh?"

"I guess."

"Hey." Mikey touches Pete's shoulder gently, the two of them now sat on the bunk. "You good?"

Pete smiles back. "Wonderful." He rubs a hand across his chin, then makes a face. "Shit, I need to shave, don't I?"

"Yeah," Mikey grins. "Scratches the shit out of me when I try to kiss you." 

Looking apologetic, Pete gets up, mumbling something about hating shaving, heading to the bathroom. "I'll be back in a couple," he says to Mikey, "Sit here and be good, right?"

Mikey nods and folds his hands in his lap mockingly. Pete squints at him, sighs, and breaks into a grin right before he closes the bathroom door.

He sits there for a bit, leaning against the wall and almost dozing off. He can't really keep the smile off his face, though, at having old Pete back. The feeling is a warm bubble in his chest, just waiting to burst, and he keeps a hand somewhere around that general area, tapping his fingers and waiting. His eyes are closed, his other hand settled on his thigh, and he's humming something that vaguely resembles an MCR song. If you were to look at him, you'd see someone totally at peace. (Someone totally in love is more like it.)

"You got him to sleep," Patrick says suddenly. He's sitting up on the bunk across from Mikey, his hair rumpled, looking oddly alert for someone who just woke up. "I think we might need to keep you around, just to keep Pete in check."

"Morning," Mikey answers, his eyes opening, a bit surprised. "That wouldn't be so bad. Your bus is a lot calmer than mine."

Patrick scoffs, glancing at the bunk above him, which holds a sleeping Joe, then looks back at Mikey and smiles. "Seriously, though. Thanks. I don't know what we'd do if he didn't..." He trails off momentarily, then runs a hand through his bedhead and looks apologetic. "Well. Do you want breakfast? I think there's cereal somewhere."

"Cereal? Sure, as long as it's not that Special K bullshit, cause I've had enough of that. It's all Gerard eats." Mikey gets to his feet a second after Patrick does, and heads to the main section of the bus, sitting down on the couch and waiting.

"Ah, shit," comes Patrick's voice. "We actually do have Special K. Wait, no, it's empty, thank god- well, no." He walks back to Mikey. "We don't have food."

Mikey laughs. "That's okay. I'll just wait for Pete to come out and we'll walk to some shitty breakfast bar."

"Hey, what about the rest of us?" Patrick jokes. "It's cool. You two go have fun, but Mikey..." His smile fades. "You gotta be careful."

"You think I don't know that? It's all that goes through my head. Fuckin' hell, I stay awake thinking about it. I'm careful as _shit_." Mikey plays with a strand of his hair, eyeing Patrick.

"Alright." Patrick looks a touch embarrassed. "And, uh, thanks again, for- for making him normal again."

Mikey bows his head. "No problem." He looks up just as Pete walks out of the bathroom, clean-shaven and looking a lot better than he had in the past couple days.

"Morning," he says. "Patrick, hey. Do we have food? I'm starving."

Patrick and Mikey exchange looks, and simultaneously burst into laughter.

 -

Later, over a cup of coffee and some pretty shitty bagels, Pete's grinning stupidly at Mikey. His hair is still unwashed, and the lines under his face haven't faded totally, but he's looking a lot healthier and there's a definite glow to his cheeks. Although that might just be because he's around Mikey- seriously, let's be real here, these two get ridiculously mushy around each other. 

"I gotta say," he says, looking thoughtful as he peers over his mug (and then immediately starts choking because the coffee is hot as _fuck_ ), "Sleep deprivation isn't fun."

Mikey stares at him like he's fucking stupid. "Really," he says dryly. "And here I was thinking it was the most fun thing in the world."

"Shut up, Mikeyway," Pete laughs, covering his mouth, "Or do I have to do it for you?"

The other boy doesn't answer, but his cheeks flush pink. "Not in public..."

"Aw, c'mon," Pete teases, enjoying the way Mikey blushes, looking down and toying with his bagel. "Babe."

"For the love of god," Mikey mumbles, refusing to meet Pete's eyes, "There are _people_ around. Fans. People who might-"

Pete reaches across the table and grabs Mikey's hand, staring at him until the other finally looks up at him. They lock eyes for a moment, then Mikey laughs quietly. "Come on. Lighten up. No one here has run up screaming yet, so I think we're good." He watches as Mikey processes this, then nods slowly. "Can I kiss you?"

"O-okay..."

Pete leans in, over the table, pressing his lips to Mikey's softly. "Thanks, baby." He pauses, looking at Mikey, just studying his face. "Have I mentioned you're perfect?"

Mikey pushes him away lightly. "Don't go all mushy on me."

"I'm hurt. I thought you loved me," Pete pouts, then freezes. "I mean-" 

"I, uh..." Mikey drinks his coffee instead of continuing. His cheeks are still ridiculously pink. "Yeah."

"What?"

"I do, uh, love you." Mikey won't stop staring at his coffee, biting his lip. "Just thought you should know."

Pete's face softens. "Shit, Mikey. I love you too." Then he covers his face. "You know what, I'm hoping no one heard that."

"Hey, why not? Fuck it, right? You said to lighten up." Mikey sets down his coffee and then grabs Pete's face, pulling him in for a long kiss. When they break apart, he keeps Pete's gaze for as long as possible. "Finish your coffee, then we'll take this back to the bus, and you can prove how much you love me." Eye contact still unbroken, he takes a long sip of coffee. "Okay?"

"Uh- okay-" Pete stammers, his mouth hanging open. "By the way," he adds after a moment, grinning, "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"Shut up or I'll change my mind. I'm almost regretting it already."

 


	11. you're prettier than any sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i know this is a year late and yes im sorry

They leave the others later that evening, sharing side glances cause of secrets only they know, exchanging stupid laughs every couple minutes. Their hands fit into each others' perfectly, as if made for each other. They'll lean on each other, stumble as they're walking, and any passerby can see that these two are so clearly in love.

It's a short walk, but it takes them nearly fifteen minutes. Eventually they end up on the end of a pier, their feet dangling over the edge, twenty feet above churning blue-green waves topped with crests of white foam. The sun is just starting to set, and Pete's hand finds Mikey's again as the sun hits the ocean, staining it brilliant reds, oranges, purples, that bleed into both the sky and the water.

"You know how cheesy this is?" Pete asks, grinning. He's not looking at the sunset, cause why do that when the prettiest thing is already here with him?

"Cheesy as hell," Mikey agrees. "I love it, though." He leans on Pete's shoulder.

"The sunset's gorgeous," Pete mumbles. "Y'know what's even more gorgeous, though?"

Mikey sits up and glances at him, confused. "Uh- what?"

"You are," Pete tells him, leaning in to kiss him gently. Mikey kisses back, his cheeks blushing red.

"Yeah, you're the cheesy one," he says after pulling away. "That was adorable though."

"Thanks, I try," Pete grins, turning his gaze to the sunset. Mikey's head droops against his shoulder again and their hands knot together. The day is cooling down, but only slightly, so there's no need for Pete to retrieve the jacket he's tied around his waist. "Hey, you know what?"

"Hmm?" Mikey mumbles, not moving.

"It's only about a week, maybe two, until the end of Warped."

"Mm," Mikey agrees.

"I'm scared," Pete confesses suddenly, his eyes widening. "I mean- shit, never mind." He considers putting a hand over his mouth to stop himself from blurting anything else, but stops himself, cause that's an admission of guilt if there ever was one. Mikey notices anyway, though, cause it's pretty _fucking_ obvious that something's wrong.

"Scared of what?"

"N-nothing. Forget I said anything." Pete's voice has dropped to a whisper. The words get stuck in his dry throat. Mikey's grip tightens on his hand.

"You can tell me." Mikey's voice is warm and reassuring. It's a voice you could admit anything to, a voice that makes you _want_ to say everything you've been repressing. A trusting voice.

"Seriously," Pete insists, "It's nothing! Just scared of like, crowds. Did you know that? I get _seriously_ bad stage fright. Like the thing with the heelys, you have _no_ idea- I was about to pass out! Sometimes I think I should drink before shows. Maybe that would take my mind off of things-"

"Oh," Mikey says dully. "I thought it was something important. I'm scared of crowds too, but you shouldn't drink, cause- cause look at Gerard." He quiets. "That's something else I'm scared of, if you don't mind. I'm scared of what Gee's doing."

Goddamn it, Pete, look at how _fucking_ insignificant your 'problems' are compared to Mikey's. His brother is- hell, what is Gerard doing anyway? Much worse than Pete's! Pete, listen buddy, you gotta calm down and realize no one cares about your problems, okay? They've got worse things at hand! Now shut the hell up and comfort Mikey.

"Me too," Pete says. He slides his arms around Mikey's shoulder and pulls the boy into his chest. That's supposed to help, right?

Course it does. Mikey's voice is muffled but it's clear he's smiling. "Thanks, Pete."

"Anytime."

"Now tell me what you're really scared of."

The smile slides off of Pete's face. "I told you. Crowds."

"Yeah, and what else?"

"T-that's it."

Mikey sits up. His eyes are lowered, staring maybe at Pete's chest, definitely not his face. One hand pushes his hair back, the other twists in his lap. "Don't you trust me?"

Fuck! He's so convincing. But you gotta stay strong, Pete! You can't let him know, you hear? Don't want to cause him any unnecessary annoyance. "Course, yeah. I trust you. So don't you trust me when I say there's nothing else?"

Now Mikey's eyes meet his. The corners of Mikey's lips turn down. "No, I don't."

 _Ouch_ , Pete thinks. "I would say I'm pretty trustworthy," he tries half-heartedly. Mikey seems to grow even more disapproving. "Okay, okay, shit. I'll tell you later. I don't wanna spoil right now."

"Yeah, it is pretty perfect," Mikey agrees, his features softening. "Later, promise?"

Pete nods, and seals his promise with a kiss. Hopefully if they go for drinks later, Mikey will forget.

Together they turn to watch the sunset again. The sun has dipped lower, becoming obscured by the frenzying waves burning red. The air is still heavy, humid and creating drops of sweat under Pete's shirt. He lightly nudges Mikey off of him and stands up.

"What are you doing?" Mikey asks, utterly confused as Pete strips off his shirt.

"I'm going for a swim. Come on!" Pete tucks the material under his arm and starts to jog down the pier, where Mikey has no choice but to scramble to his feet and follow him.

Pete's feet hit the sand just as the last remnants of sunlight are swallowed up by the ocean. He tugs down his jeans and tosses them behind him along with his shirt, leaving him just on his boxers. Pete's got a nice body and he knows it- tanned and thin.

Mikey whistles, coming up behind him. "Damn. You look good."

"Are you joining me?" Pete asks, turning to face him. Mikey shakes his head.

"Not right now. I'm just gonna sit back and appreciate you, alright?"

That's fine with Pete. He nods and takes off into a run, the water surging toward him as he leaps into the waves. Warmed by the sun, the water isn't too cold, but it still shocks him as it hits his skin. He bobs up, panting, noticing Mikey sprawled out on the sand.

"Babe!" he yells, the word coming out involuntarily, "Come and join me!"

"I'm scared of water!" Mikey yells back.

Oh, okay. Pete douses himself in water again and swims back to shore. When he reaches the sand he keeps going, jumping towards Mikey. The other boy moves out of the way but reaches for Pete, stabilizing him.

"Since when are you scared of water?" Pete asks, looking like a wet dog with his dripping hair and ring of black around his eyes.

Mikey shrugs. "Phobia. Always had it." He tries not to focus on Pete's soaked boxers, clinging to him, but it's difficult. God! Pete's ridiculously attractive. It's hard to even look at him properly, and now, dripping wet, the drops of water reflecting the moon and starlight? He looks ethereal. Godly. Mikey wants to fuck him right then and there, but- what? Ignore that, of course he doesn't.

Pete grins, noticing where Mikey's eyes are. "Alright, huh. Come here, okay? Can I kiss you?"

"Course," Mikey answers, not even minding as Pete presses his sticky wet body against Mikey's. He's cold and shivering a little bit, but Mikey's lips warm him up, fill him with warm butterflies. His chest is on fire with words begging to be said. They're pushing at his lips, threatening to spill, and he's filled with an almost frantic need.

"Mikey, baby boy, we need to go, okay?"

"Go? Go where?"

"Somewhere, I don't care, just somewhere private," Pete says between frantic kisses. "Please? I need you." He grabs at Mikey's shirt, pulling him closer. "Baby-"

"Yes, okay," Mikey says back, kissing him with an almost equally matching want. "Where? There's nowhere private for-" Pete pushes him back gently and they walk like that until Mikey bumps up against the pier. He turns around. "You're kidding."

"I need you," Pete insists, kissing him again, pushing his hips flush against Mikey's. Yes, Mikey notices, he most certainly does. "Right now. I don't care how, but I _need_ -"

"Got it, okay, hush-" Mikey presses his lips to Pete's in an effective way of shutting him up, his hand gliding down Pete's still wet chest and to the waistband of his boxers. "Okay?" he asks softly as Pete shivers and nods wordlessly, as if holding his breath. He glances around, makes sure the place is deserted, and slowly pushes his hand into Pete's underwear, taking him in hand and stroking quickly, strongly, Pete moaning involuntarily. "You're such a- fuck, such a slut- we're in public, do you know how _risky_ this is?"

"Shut up, Way, I need this right now, deal with it." Pete grabs Mikey's shoulder, kisses him hotly, his crotch pushing forward. Begging, he's begging now, needing it, Mikey's loving every second of it. It's a mess, all of it, cause Mikey's still clothed and Pete's struggling to change that, but he's soaked and only in a pair of drenched boxers that aren't even doing their job anymore.

"Oh, I'm not complaining, believe me," Mikey says with a smirk, and okay? It's the hottest thing Pete's ever seen. He looks up at Mikey, his mouth open slightly, his lips wet and swollen and pink as all hell, and he's needy, so goddamn _needy_ -

"I'm not going to last, not like this," Pete warns.

"Good. We'll start this up when we get back, right?" Mikey's face is absolutely devilish.

" _Fuck_ ," Pete pants suddenly- "Of course, shit. Baby, baby boy, holy fuck- do you know what you do to me? You look- you look gorgeous, okay-" His fingers skim Mikey's cheek and jaw, partly illuminated by the moonlight, and suddenly he dissolves into a drawn-out moan, his face flushed as he spills into Mikey's hand, a slurred rush of words falling from his lips. "Fuck, fuck MikeywayI _loveyou_ -"

Mikey pulls his hand away and wipes it against himself. "Come on," he says softly, "Let's get you dressed and back to-" He pauses, Pete's words registering. "What?"

"Nothing," Pete grins, still riding the high. "Holy shit, though, that was good. Real fucking good."

"Did you mean it?" Mikey asks, and Pete knows in that moment he's absolutely fucking doomed, so why not take the plunge? He looks down, pretending to be chaste, then looks up and grins even wider.

"Yeah."

Mikey's lips catch his. "Then I love you too, okay?"

-

His heart is pounding almost painfully. The words are swirling in his head and spilling from the neck of the bottle in his hand.

No one would say those words to him and mean it. But why would he _lie_? Lying is worse than saying nothing at all, Pete thinks, and takes a good long drink that sends his head spinning in twenty directions.

What a stupid idea, thinking- even for a moment- Mikey would mean what he said. 'I love you.' Bullshit! No one does, Pete sighs, his throat burning as he coats it with whiskey, no one at all. And maybe it's for the best, you know? Pete isn't really someone you'd _like_ to fall in love with. He's pretty awful, really. Terrible. Absolutely fucking shitty. It's there, clear as day.

Which begs the question- why is Mikey still here? Why, to get Pete's hopes up, of _course_. Make him believe someone could actually love him- and then dump him on his ass with a 'Come on, Wentz, did you _really_ believe that? Fucking idiot.' Of course. It's expected. You can't really, truly, no-strings-attached love him. It just doesn't _work_.

The room is spinning as Pete takes another swig of whiskey. Okay, so there's a pounding building up behind his left temple, but if he drinks that will take away the pain, yeah? That's what he does, and the room whirls again, cartwheeling out of control. He gropes for the blanket he's sitting on and tightens his hold on it, as if it will keep him grounded. Grounded! Pete's about to float off into fucking _outer space_. This is wild.

Where is the rest of his band? Wait, is this even his tour bus? Yes, of course it is, no other one would have a stash of alcohol underneath the bed- fuck. Where _is_ everyone?

"Hello?" he calls out drunkenly, his tongue thick and slurring the word into a jumbled, fuzzy mess.

There's no answer, but he should've expected that, shouldn't he?

He always ends up alone, no matter what. It's a simple fact of life. Pete examines the whiskey bottle and sighs wistfully. Just once he would like to have someone to call his own.

It's then that he hears the door to the bus open, and the sound of voices fills the once-silent space. No, this isn't what Pete wants at all. He frowns and starts to put away his bottles.

"Pete?" Patrick stands there, looking at him oddly. His eyes land on the alcohol, then Pete's dazed obviously drunk self. "Are you alright?"

"Peachy, buddy," Pete announces, rising to his feet and shoving the alcohol behind him. Patrick looks suspicious but doesn't say anything. "Where- where were you guys?"

"Out," Patrick answers uneasily, "Travie's bus."

Pete brightens. "Travie! I love him! He's wonderful. Did you get any-"

"Drugs? No." Patrick's face morphs into one of disapproval. "You're drunk."

"Off my face, yeah," Pete slurs, and grabs his whiskey, drinking it quickly before it can register in Patrick's mind.

"You probably shouldn't."

"Probably, yeah," Pete agrees, and continues.

He feels the bottle being wrenched out of his hand and Patrick looks pissed now. "Pete, seriously, stop." Pete reaches for the bottle and Patrick slaps his hand away. " _Pete_."

"I need my fucking alcohol! Give me it!" Pete demands, lunging for it. "Patrick! You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"

Patrick steps back, hurt. "You don't mean that, do you?"

"I _do_ ," Pete insists, his hand still outstretched. "Fucking asshole, yeah. I hate you. Give me my fucking whiskey and leave me the hell alone."

The younger boy hands him the alcohol wordlessly and disappears into a different section of the bus. Pete collapses onto his bed again and polishes off a good inch or two, his pulse rocketing up. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, spiking it. The room is beginning to slide apart like melting crayons, the colors and sounds bleeding into each other. Maybe Patrick was right. He needs to stop.

No. No he fucking doesn't. He won't listen to Patrick, cause Patrick is young and dumb and too innocent. Too fucking naive. As if Pete would listen to him.

He gets up and stumbles into the main part of the bus, leaning on the wall and taking another long drink as he surveys the three boys sitting on the couch that've lapsed into silence since his entrance.

"See?" Patrick says quietly. "I don't know what happened."

"Shut the hell up, Stump," Pete snaps, "No one gives a shit, okay?"

Joe looks uneasily at Patrick and slides his arm around the boy's shoulders, pulling him closer. "I give a shit," Joe adds, "I think you're the asshole here, Pete."

"I fucking know that, Joe. I'm used to it by now. Patrick's an asshole too though. He tried to take my _whiskey_ -" Pete pouts angrily. "He's a whiny little bitch! I hate him!" he continues as if Patrick wasn't there.  The bottle is pulled away from him and Pete looks at Andy, who's taking it, and raises his fist as if attempting to punch him, but he's shaking too badly to even try. "Fuck you! I need that, you cunt!" Pete hits Andy's chest- it's like being hit by a toddler- and yells more insults.

"I'm going to take care of this, alright?" Andy says calmly to the others, then scoops Pete up and carried him to the bunk. "Go to sleep, we'll deal with this in the morning."

He deposits Pete on the bed and leaves. Pete lies in silence for a moment, then flips over and grabs his bottle of sleeping pills, meaning to pour just one into his hand. He's too drunk, too out of it to notice he's swallowed five or six instead.

Pete caps the bottle and goes to put it away, but it slips from his fingers and shatters as he goes unconscious.


	12. shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep.

"Pete?" Patrick calls, looking around. He notices Pete sprawled on his bunk and laughs quietly. "Come on, sleepyhead, it's rehearsal time." Pete doesn't stir. Patrick shakes him lightly, furrows his eyebrows. "Pete?"

"Is he up yet?" Joe complains from behind.

"No," Patrick sighs, "He's not even stirring..."

Joe steps around him. "Lemme try," he says, then slaps Pete in the face. Zero reaction.

It's Patrick who notices the spilled sleeping pills on the floor. "Joe, wait," he whispers, his voice dropping. He points to the little pills and the empty orange container. Joe's face turns ashen. "You think he-"

"He was really drunk last night," Joe mumbles. "Add those, and you..."

He looks up at Patrick and they lock horror-wide eyes. "Should we call someone?" Patrick asks quietly. "We can call off rehearsal today."

Pete whimpers in his sleep, if you can call it that. Immediately their attention snaps to him. "Pete?" Joe asks. "Wake the hell up."

He goes to slap Pete again but Patrick catches his wrist, kisses him lightly. "Shh. He'll wake up, I think. Don't hurt him."

Joe's face softens and he kisses Patrick back. "Okay. Should we leave him then?"

"Yeah," Patrick nods, "Definitely call off rehearsal, though. And maybe get Mikey here." He smiles at Joe.

"Got it, baby boy."

-

Mikey arrives when they tell him what happened, and he nearly passes out when he sees Pete.

"Fucking Sleeping Beauty," he mutters, then whips his accusing gaze to Joe and Patrick. "You didn't call anyone?"

"Other than you, no," Patrick answers. "Why?"

"He could be fucking dead by now!" Mikey snaps. "Alcohol and sleeping pills? _Not_ a good fucking mix." He sinks to his knees and checks Pete's pulse. "Right, so he's not dead. But he could be."

Patrick bites his nails. "Sorry," he mutters, and Mikey rolls his eyes.

"Maybe instead of apologizing, you could call a fucking ambulance?" he snaps, still focusing on Pete. "Wait, don't do that. I think he's waking up. Get me a bucket or something."

Luckily, they have one on hand, and Mikey gets it just in time as Pete leans over and vomits into the bucket. His eyes flutter open and he slumps, moaning slightly.

"Pete?" Mikey asks quietly. "Are you okay?"

Pete retches again and turns to Mikey weakly. "Huh?"

"You took too many sleeping pills mixed with too much alcohol. Just short of having a severe reaction, apparently, but I'm no doctor." Mikey strokes his forehead. Pete's eyes are dazed and glossy, his demeanor feverish.

"...Right. N-not dead?"

"Not dead," Mikey confirms, and Pete purses his lips.

"Okay."

"You need anything?" Mikey asks.

Pete's eyes flick up to Patrick and Joe, standing warily in the background. "They can leave," he mumbles quietly, so Mikey strains to hear. "Sleep with me."

Mikey nods to the two boys and climbs into bed with Pete, cuddling him from behind. "You're really sick," he says, "Sleep a bit more, okay? I'm not going anywhere. And there's a bucket if you feel like throwing up again."

Pete makes a small sound of approval, and then they're in silent darkness. The lights are off and he hears the rest of the band talking about how they need to get going, how they'll just let Mikey meet up with his guys at the next stop.

"Mikey?" Pete whispers.

"Yeah?"

"I wish I didn't wake up," he admits quietly, and sniffles. "I wasn't trying to- kill myself, but-"

Mikey pulls him closer. "Oh, baby boy, please don't..."

"You don't know what it's like!" Pete whimpers. "It's the worst kind of thing. I feel like there's someone eating me from the inside out right now, and I wish I had the guts to kill myself properly, but I fucking don't! Cause I'm a pussy ass bitch! Who's fucking better off dead anyway!" He jerks forward, retches slightly, and turns around, sobbing into Mikey's chest. "I hate it I hate it I _hate it_ -"

"Let it out, baby, you're okay," Mikey whispers soothingly, rubbing his back in comforting circles. "I love you. We can get through this. You'll be okay."

Pete clutches him fiercely and hiccups. "Stay with me," he begs, "Don't you ever leave. Ever."

"I can't promise that," Mikey says, and Pete lets out another muffled sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I hate you, I hate you I fucking _hate you_ ," Pete screams into Mikey's chest, but doesn't move away. "You're terrible you're absolutely awful why am I in love with you I hate it-"

"Baby boy," Mikey whispers. "Please." He blinks away his own tears, knowing Pete isn't in his right mind, knowing he doesn't mean what he says. But the words hurt. "You're not thinking clearly."

Pete seizes in a coughing fit and turns around, vomits. His head hangs weakly over the side of the bed. "I can't do this," he whispers, so low Mikey can barely make it out. He looks up. "Get me to the hospital." And he slips off the bed, just narrowly missing the bucket.

Patrick comes dashing in. "What happened?" he asks, noticing Pete on the floor. Mikey is dull. "Mikey!"

"Hospital," is all he answers, "Now."

-

It's a miracle that they release him without any stints in the mental hospital. It's ruled as an accident and the next day, Pete is walking out the front entrance of the hospital, ducking out of sight of prying cameras that beg to know why he was in there. "Visiting a friend!" he yells, and reporters write down lies. They press for more, but he's jumped into Mikey's car, and they're careening down the street.

"Feeling better?" Mikey asks. Pete groans.

"Fucking hate the press. They don't know when to back off." He slumps down in the seat and turns the radio up louder. "Hey, is that-"

They both pause, then split into wide grins.

"That's my song!" Pete yells. "That's Sugar! _On the radio_!" His hands are over his mouth. "Mikey, are you hearing this?"

"Yeah!" Mikey beams at his boyfriend. "I'm so proud, baby."

Pete's smile is wide and there's twinges of hope in his chest. This is going to work out. Oh, this is going to all work out.

Then his phone is blowing up with texts, both concerned and congratulatory- 'your song's on the radio!' and 'were you in the hospital?' and Pete is laughing so hard he can't breath. He can't quite sing as well as Patrick, but he yells every word, and laughs even harder at the fact that he's singing his own song in public. Mikey sings along.

They reach the tour bus and Joe is yelling, Patrick's dying of laughter, and Andy is the literal sun from the way he's beaming. "Our SONG!" Joe shouts, and Pete suspects he's not completely sober. "Pete! Didja hear it? _Our song_!"

"Yeah, I heard it!" Pete grins. Joe hugs him clumsily as the attention swings to him.

"Are you feeling better?" Andy asks, brushing a curl out of his face. 

Pete nods. "Fine, yeah." He keeps the smile on his face and his grip on Mikey's hand. 

"Our SONG!" Joe yells again, and everyone looks at him again. Pete takes the opportunity to sag into Mikey and pull him to the back of the bus.

"It's too loud," he mumbles, "I've got a headache, I want to sleep, and I couldn't really give a shit about our song." He covers his eyes with his hand. "Can you get me my meds? They're in the bathroom."

Mikey fetches them and watches Pete take them. "Bipolar?" he guesses, and Pete nods weakly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm probably gonna sleep now," Pete tells him, walking to the bathroom to put the pills back. Mikey trails after him. "You probably want to go back to your bus, which is totally fine. I'm exhausted, don't need any pills to help me sleep." He smiles at Mikey. "Seriously. Don't you trust me?"

"Occasionally," Mikey answers, sighing. He wraps his arms around Pete. "Okay. Sleep well, baby. Your band needs you. And so do I." He presses a quick kiss to the boy's lips and pulls away. 

"I love you," Pete mumbles, kicking his shoes off and climbing into his bunk. He shimmies out of his jeans and stares up at Mikey with a silly, lovesick smile, and he looks so absolutely ridiculous, just a little boy in a black shirt and gray boxers. Mikey giggles and leans down to kiss him again and ends up being pulled into the bunk with him.

"I love you too, baby boy, but I gotta get back to my bus," Mikey tells him. Pete tugs him closer and pouts.

"No, stay here, stay with me," Pete insists, and doesn't let go. 

He gets his answer in the form of Mikey sitting up, taking his pants and shoes off, and pulling the blanket over both of them. It's a tight fit in the small bunk, but they'd do anything just to be close.

When the rest of the band walks in later that night, they've fallen asleep holding hands.

-

The next few days go rhythmically. Wake up, practice, occasionally play a show, fall asleep on Mikey. The younger boy has completely given up sleeping in his own bus and they don't really care about the press anymore- every second of free time they get, you'll find them in some corner talking and giggling and making out like lovesick teenagers. 

But it works, you know? They're happy, and that's what matters, and their bands are doing _amazingly_ , and Pete takes his meds. Everything is good. 

Then Patrick sits Pete down one day.

"Pete," he says, "I need to talk to you about something." Pete still has a smile on his face from talking to Mikey just before this, but it quickly disappears.

"About what?" he asks, because you know that when someone says those words it'll be serious. So he folds his hands in his lap and stares at Patrick very intensely, chewing at his lower lip a little.

Patrick takes a deep breath. "I don't know how to say this," he starts, and Pete's mouth twists to the side.

"Then don't," he suggests tightly, "This is about Mikey, isn't it?"

The other boy won't meet his eyes. "Yeah," he sighs. "I'm worried. About the press. The media. You know they'll rip us apart if they find out." His eyes flick up to meet Pete's. "It won't be good. We'll be shunned. You know how... 'accepting' everyone is around here." The corner of his mouth curls slightly, indicating the joke, but Pete doesn't smile back.

"Fuck them," he snaps. "I don't give a shit about the press. You've told me this before, Tricks. Course I'd rather not come out, but if I did, who cares? We'll still have fans. The _real_ ones will stick around, and they're the ones who matter. Sure, the commercialized pop radio fans do too, but..." He rolls his eyes. "Just don't, okay? I don't know why you're so intent on driving me and Mikey apart, but-"

He gets up to leave but Patrick grabs his wrist and pulls him in close, almost pleading. "It'll ruin my life. They'll harass us, Pete, don't you realize? Are you that selfish?"

"Oh, like you aren't?" Pete retorts. "Like you and Joe don't go out and play looking like you were fucking backstage?" His eyes narrow. "Fucking hypocrite." He pries Patrick's fingers off of him. 

"Do we?" Patrick asks, and his voice is dropping. "No one notices that, Pete, no one at all-"

"And no one fucking notices me and Mikey, either!"

Patrick scrunches his face up. "They notice how much you hang around him! And they _know_ something was off about you disappearing off the face of the earth and then being seen again exiting a _fucking hospital_ , they're not _stupid_ , Pete."

"Oh, that's low. You think I don't beat myself up for that every fucking day?" Pete closes his eyes. "You think I don't wish I'd taken more of those pills? You think I don't wish that I'd never have woken up?"

"Shit," Patrick says, realizing. "That's not what I meant-"

Pete's eyebrow shoots up and he laughs dryly. "I know. But you implied it. Look, I'm fucking done. All this bullshit, okay? Mikey and I- he keeps me here, grounded, he's good for me and you know it. And, hey, you know what?" Pete leans in close, until their faces are centimeters away. If either of them moved closer, they'd be kissing. Patrick closes his eyes and gulps. "I think you're just jealous," Pete breathes, and it tickles Patrick's skin. "Whether it's of me and Mikey's relationship, or just Mikey himself-" His mouth flicks up in a smirk then, and he starts to lean back. "Scratch that. I _know_ you're just jealous. See ya later, Patrick."

"Pete-" Patrick tries again, but Pete doesn't answer, getting up and walking off the bus. The younger boy hunches over, putting his head in his hands, and lets the tears spill.

-

Pete walks straight out and down the street. At least he has his phone with him this time. At least he knows where he is. But the second he can, he turns his phone off and hurls it into the road. Almost immediately there's a crunch as a car runs over it, and a faint "What the _fuck_?!" from the driver. Pete can't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes, so he does both, and keeps walking. No, running. Pete runs until his feet ache and he's at a total loss for breath.

He's thinking then that maybe he should quit the band, walking down the strange, unfamiliar streets of Baltimore, and he doesn't know why the idea sounds so appealing.

Maybe it's because this is the first project of his that has worked out, and if anything bad were to happen to the band, he would be crushed.

Maybe it's because he and Patrick were so, so unbelievable close. Close enough that when Pete was sobbing at three in the morning, it was Patrick who was there, comforting him. Close enough that when it was _Patrick_ who was confessing that he thought he'd never be good enough, it was Pete who was telling him he was the best. And who was there the last time Pete cried? Who was there, who looked after him when he was in the fucking _hospital_?

Mikey, that's who. And Patrick sat around and said stupid things like 'I didn't think it was too serious.' 

And maybe the band can't handle relationships involving its members. But Pete doesn't want to be so quick to blame Joe and Patrick, and yet...

He knows that eventually someone will figure everything out. Already he's seen people speculating, mostly on LiveJournal. He'd written about the sunset he and Mikey had watched together (leaving out the part where Mikey had jerked him off cause, um, you get the idea). 

But back to the band. It just... it isn't making Pete happy anymore. It's sort of like a relationship. (A really strange one, with four boys, but who's judging?) And sometimes, you have to end the relationship, you know? It's painful, and it's sad, but sometimes, it's fucking _necessary_.

And hey, he isn't going to break up the band. He'll just leave, cause finding a new bassist couldn't be that hard, could it? He doesn't contribute much else. His lyrics are shit. A three-year-old could think of better ones about Teletubbies and Dora the Explorer.

He has enough money to just settle down for a little bit. Pete could get a low key little job, go out to see Mikey play sometimes.

The idea is now irresistibly appealing to him, and by the time his feet feel like they'd been unscrewed from his ankles and then screwed back on incorrectly, he's convinced. So he starts his trek back to the buses. It takes a while, and the sun's dipped below the horizon by the time he's knocking on the door of Mikey's bus.

Gerard opens. "Hi," he says, looking a bit surprised. "Looking for Mikey? He's at your bus. They're all freaked out. Said you'd run away again." Pete doesn't answer for a moment. "You wanna come in? I'll get you a beer."

At this, Pete nods gratefully. "I'd love that, yeah. My feet feel like I cut them off and tried to tape them back on." He comes in and collapses on the couch, feeling the blood start circulating through his toes again. "Fuck, that's better."

"I heard, uh, heard you 'nd Patrick aren't doin' so good," Gerard suggests, coming back with two beers. He offers one to Pete and takes the other for himself, sinking down onto the couch.

"Yeah." Pete takes a sip of the beer and shrugs. "He's on my ass about Mikey all the time. Says we can't get found out, that we're too obvious."

Gerard laughs. "Mikey says the same about me 'nd Frank, but it is what it is, right? _C'est ce que c'est_." He scratches his head. "That's the one, right? Or is it _c'est la vie_? I always mix those two up..."

Pete, who doesn't know French at all but recognizes the second sentence, shakes his head. "It's the first one, I think. _C'est la vie_ is 'such is life'."

"Of course!" Gerard grins. "Fuckin' hate French, but it's pretty. Anyway, back to Patrick."

"I got pissed at him," Pete admits, drinking his beer, "Said he's jealous of me and Mikey. Maybe just Mikey." He scoffs a little. "The boy's a little in love with me, ya gotta admit."

"Of course," Gerard repeats, and Pete can't tell if he's agreeing or just humoring him.

"So yeah. I kinda yelled a bit. But he can't be that bummed. It's sorta his fault anyway." He finishes the beer and tucks it between his legs. Gerard sighs.

"Maybe you should talk to him," he offers, and Pete grimaces. "Don't give me that face, c'mon, you don't want your band to break up, right?"

"I, uh, actually," Pete starts, but Gerard cuts him off quickly.

"Don't even think about it. You're too far ahead to stop now. You've had two real, proper albums. No band stops after that. You're too successful." He stares at Pete. "Do you realize how many people would be distraught?"

Pete blinks. "What?"

The other boy leans forward and pokes him. "People _like_ your band. People _like_ you. They don't- want- you- to- leave." And with every word, he pokes Pete in the chest, until he's laughing.

"I get it," Pete says. He stares at his empty beer. "Right. I'm, uh, I'm gonna go 'pologize to Trick."

Gerard smiles at him, takes his bottle. "That's my boy." He watches as Pete stands up, wincing slightly cause of his sore feet, and wobbles to the door. "I'm assuming Mikey's staying at yours again?"

Pete turns. His eyes are soft at the mention of Mikey. "Hopefully," he says.

He steps out into the night air. It's cool and gentle and smells like gasoline mixed with grass. He takes a deep breath, wipes his palms on his pants, and staggers on aching legs to his bus.

They're all there, on the couches, his band and Mikey. 

Mikey looks upset, and he has his hand on Patrick's back.

"Hi," says Pete, and the attention swings to him. He smiles weakly.

His boyfriend's the first to get up, pulling him into a crushing hug. "You fucking idiot," he says, "Stop fucking running away, don't you know how worried we get? And you weren't answering your phone-"

Pete smiles sheepishly. "I threw it under a car," he explains, and Mikey groans. "Sorry?" He makes eye contact with Patrick, and his smile fades. The younger boy's eyes are red and puffy. "Patrick?"

Mikey lets go of him and steps away. Pete sits down next to Patrick gingerly and looks down.

"I, uh," Patrick says softly, "I'm sorry. For what I said."

Pete looks at him doubtfully. "I'm sorry too," he shrugs, then looks up. "I'm going to bed. I'm fucking exhausted."

He takes Mikey's hand and leads him to the back of the bus, where they sit on the bunk.

"That was an awful apology," Mikey tells him. He doesn't look Pete in the eyes. "But you're tired, so I think they'll give you a pass. Tomorrow, though..."

His boyfriend sighs. "I know. I know." He takes Mikey's chin lightly and pulls him closer, about to kiss him, when Mikey leans away. "What?"

"I don't, uh. I don't want to," Mikey stammers, his cheeks furiously red. Pete blinks at him.

"Why not?"

"I just... it's nothing," Mikey mumbles. He's staring at his hands. "You can, um, go shower or whatever, I'll... I'll wait here."

Pete looks at him. "Oh," he says. "Okay."

He takes the quickest shower of his life, mainly because bus showers are awful and also because he wants to know what the hell is up with Mikey. He comes back clean and with only a towel wrapped around his waist. As soon as he sits down on the bunk in all his nearly-naked glory, Mikey stiffens his back and inhales.

"Can you get dressed, please?" Mikey asks quietly. 

"What's gotten into you?" Pete grumbles, but he pulls on a pair of boxers anyway. Then he lies down on his bunk, waiting a bit hopelessly for Mikey to lie down next to him.

The answer comes then. Or some form of it. "I'm gonna go back to my bus," Mikey says. He looks at Pete, lying on the bed and pouting. "I'm sorry, Pete, really I am."

"But why? What's going on?" Pete presses, grabbing for Mikey's hand as he goes to stand up. Mikey shakes off his grip and composes himself.

"I'm not so sure this is going to work out," he says, and rushes out the door.

 


End file.
